Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones
by Littleforest
Summary: Harry Potter would never regret running away as a child, but two years living on the hard streets of London had taken its toll. Now almost thirteen, Harry is still struggling to survive when a split-second decision gives him a chance at happiness. But will he take that chance, or will his past haunt him forever? AU story.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Prologue**

* * *

_Sticks and stones may break my bones,_

_But words will break my spirit._

* * *

He was running. Always running.

Being on the move had kept him safe for as long as he could remember. If he was moving, nothing could catch him.

If he was running, he couldn't be hurt.

His natural self-preservation instincts had been honed by his cousin mostly. Being chased around the streets of Little Whinging had become the prominent memory of his childhood. His Uncle had contributed occasionally within the confines of Number Four of course, but in those instances he had soon learnt that it was actually better not to run. The pain in the short run had always been easier to take than the consequences of running.

But soon his Uncle wouldn't be here anymore. Or at least, he wasn't going to be with his Uncle.

Ten year old Harry Potter brushed messy black hair out of his eyes and picked up the battered school bag he was carrying. He turned slowly from his position in the cold, dark street, his dimmed green eyes finally resting on the outside of the unremarkable house that should've been his home from the moment his parents had been killed.

He had never been welcome there; always ignored, always on the fringes of family life but never part of it. It had never been home, and now, it would never have the chance to be.

He was sick of being forced to take every word spat at him in anger; every slap, kick or punch. He was sick of being scared to walk around every street corner, half-expecting to get beaten up by his cousin's gang.

He was sick of being scared to go home.

Harry was leaving, carrying every battered thing he owned in an old school bag that he had stolen from his cousin Dudley's second bedroom. His own had been second-hand, equally battered, and stolen from him on his first day of primary school, never to be replaced.

He wouldn't miss school, nor would he miss the near-constant bullying he suffered there. He definitely wouldn't miss living at Number Four, Privet Drive.

And what was worse, he wouldn't be missed either.

Harry closed his eyes, and slowly turned to the darkened street that led onto Magnolia Crescent, his expression showing no doubt, no regret and no fear.

Wherever he ended up, it had to be better than the life he was leaving behind.

Without looking back, he opened his eyes and walked quickly down the street, picking up the pace gradually until his battered body was flying through the darkness as fast as his legs would take him.

He was running.

This time, he wouldn't stop.

* * *

**A/N-** So, this is a short prologue to a story I have been thinking of starting for a while. I know it seems like a cliché 'Harry runs away' story at the moment, but I do hope to write an original storyline to keep it new and interesting.

There will obviously be more explanations and background later in the story, but for now I just wanted to get an idea of whether or not people would like me to continue this.

So, does anybody out there want to read more? If there is enough interest, a new chapter will be added soon. For now though, thanks for reading!


	2. What Once Was Lost

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 1: What Once Was Lost**

* * *

Two years had passed since the summer night that young Harry Potter had decided to run away from home, and it had been two years since anyone had seen any trace of the boy.

Two long years since the Wizarding World had lost its beloved saviour.

Whilst no one knew where the boy was now, everybody in their world knew the tragic story of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and what had happened to him on that Halloween night so many years ago. The way he had cheated death. The way he had somehow fought off the darkest wizard of all time as only a toddler, escaping with nothing but a scar. The way he had tragically lost his parents, sacrificing their lives for the good of the Wizarding World.

He had disappeared from the public eye after that night, left to grow up away from the hype and attention, but people did not forget his name. They did not forget his sacrifice. The child became a symbol of the new world, the new future. Life carried on but they did not forget his story.

He was a hero.

Of course, even though no one in the general population of Wizarding Britain knew, even now, exactly what had happened to the Boy Who Lived in the decade that had followed that fateful night, some parents had tried to fill in some of the gaps. Some taught their children that he was now a prince, raised in a faraway land by a grateful king. Others told stories of a loving family who had adopted the saviour as one of their own, preparing him for the day that he would rejoin their world.

Only a few knew the truth.

There was no grateful king. There was no loving family.

Instead, Harry Potter had grown up, unloved, in the hateful Dursley household. When he had been only ten years old, he had run away from home. He had not been seen since.

The letters for the new Hogwarts students had been sent that fateful summer, and anticipation had been high in the Wizarding world as many realised that it was finally the year that young Harry would rejoin them. When his letters were returned unanswered, with the address clearly and diastrously missing on the magical envelope, anticipation had turned into fear, and fear had turned into horror as Harry's disappearance and his life had the Dursleys had been revealed piece by horrifying piece after further investigation.

Albus Dumbledore had revived the Order of the Phoenix, hoping to find some clue that would help bring the boy to safety, hoping to lessen the guilt he felt every day for having left the poor boy there without ever having checked up on him. The old Headmaster had aged considerably over those first few weeks, and he had not been the same since. He was still cheery to his students, and eccentric to his staff, but the twinkle in his eyes had dimmed and left, never to return.

Sadly, their extensive search had turned up nothing, and it was largely believed that they had arrived too late. Harry had been long gone, and no form of tracking, magical or not, was effective after so long of a gap.

The trail had gone cold.

They still searched, some almost obsessively to this day, but most who knew the truth about his childhood believed that Harry would never be found. They believed, with a sadness weighing heavily upon their hearts, that Harry had left the mortal world and had joined his parents once again.

* * *

A skinny, young boy, almost thirteen now although he looked much younger, was standing unnoticed in a darkened corner of the busy street, unmoving as he leant on the brick wall, always watching, but never a part of the hustle and bustle of the busy London streets. His keen green eyes took everything in; from potential threats to potential opportunities, he missed nothing.

The cool evening breeze blew through his messy dark hair, but he paid it no mind, his focus elsewhere as he watched the people march down the pavement past him. He watched impassively as the heavy foot traffic of people on their way home from work passed him by, their minds already on their families and what would be awaiting them at their houses.

Most did not see him in the shadows, and even though some glanced in his direction, in truth they gave him as much significance as the brick wall he was leaning on. He was nothing to them.

Nothing to anyone.

Harry pulled his worn jacket more closely around his skinny chest to try and contain what little heat he could, but even though it was summer, the night that was slowly creeping upon them would be too cold for most to bear.

Sighing deeply to himself, Harry moved away from the wall with purpose, walking lightly on his feet as he dove in and out of the crowd, never making contact with anyone. Never attracting any attention.

That was rule number one for life on the streets.

_Never be noticed._

He had become good at following that rule over the years. It had been difficult though, and Harry had learnt the hard way. Beatings, scars and fights had made it clear; avoid any attention and life will be better.

Or at least, it won't be worse.

Rule number two had always been a bit harder for Harry to follow, but after many hard and harsh lessons he had grasped this one as well.

_Do what you have to do to survive._

It hadn't been easy at first, but it's surprising what an empty stomach will do to your conscience. Harry had never liked stealing, and he still only did it when he had no other choice, but his nimble fingers, honed by hours of practice on the streets, had saved him from hunger more times than he could count.

He walked down the street with purpose, darting in and out of the crowd, but never a part of it, his hands moving quickly to gather any prizes he could from the pockets of the unsuspecting men and women making their way back to their homes and families. Guilt formed no part of his thoughts as moved through the crowd, his focus solely on gathering enough to survive a little bit longer.

So far, today had been a bad day.

Hunger gripped painfully at his stomach, but he pushed the feeling aside with practised ease and ducked into a side street away from the crowd. He kept his head down, pulling up the collar of his worn coat to protect himself against the chill as he walked quickly along the winding route that would take him back to his current hideaway.

He had only been staying here for about a week, and so far it had remained safe. His last place, an old derelict house, had been compromised when he had spotted a policeman snooping around the area. He himself had not been seen, but the risk of being caught had been enough for Harry to move. His life might not be great, but it was his, and he refused to be taken by the system. Like it had throughout his childhood, running kept him free; kept him alive.

Moving from place to place, never staying anywhere longer than a month, Harry had never had anywhere to call his own. It was a sacrifice he made willingly, if only to avoid being put in an orphanage, or worse; being sent back to the Dursleys. He would do anything to avoid being found, but he knew, when he allowed himself to dwell on it, that he was deceiving himself.

Harry knew, deep down, that no one was looking for him.

His battered and worn trainers splashed through puddles as he came around the corner quickly, pausing only to take a quick assessment of the area. The alleyway he found himself in was cramp, dirty and dark, surrounded on both sides by battered buildings that had seen better days. It was empty of life though, and that was all Harry really cared about.

He was alone.

Moving cautiously down the darkened alleyway, just in case there was someone hiding in the shadows, Harry came to the side of an abandoned pub sitting desolately at the end of the alley. Looking around himself once more to make sure no one was watching what he was doing, Harry walked slowly but purposefully over to the wooden board covering one of the windows. The pub had only recently closed down, so he figured that it would be relatively safe for him to stay here for a while. The area of London he was currently in was a bit..._questionable, _but in all honesty Harry had stayed in worse, more dangerous places, and with no roof over head to protect him either.

Pulling his hands out of his jacket pockets, Harry pulled back the loose board, just far enough for him to squeeze his skinny frame through the gap. He pulled his backpack through after himself, and sealed himself in, the darkness of the derelict pub enveloping him almost immediately. It didn't bother him though.

It had been a long time since he had been scared of the dark.

His eyes adjusted slowly. He rubbed at them with his free hand as if he could somehow get rid of the blurriness, blinking furiously at the darkness that overwhelmed his vision. His glasses had been stolen a long time ago, and he still missed them to this day. Harry managed without them, of course, and his eyes had adjusted somewhat in time, but he still hated the blurred scenery that made up his life now.

Shaking himself slightly to dispel the bad memories he had been dwelling on, Harry pulled his jacket more tightly around himself and walked over to the dusty bar. All the alcohol had been cleared out when the owners had abandoned it, but they had left behind some of the bar snacks. Harry grabbed a packet of crisps and ate them quickly, not even taking a second to savour the taste; he hadn't eaten yet today, and since it was nearing seven o'clock in the evening now, his stomach was protesting loudly enough for him to be forced to do something about it. It wasn't the most nutritious meal in the world, but Harry had eaten worse in his short life, and to be honest he counted himself lucky to have anything to eat at all.

In hindsight, he really had lucked out when he had found this place last week. It was musty, and damp had begun to set in along some of the walls, but on the whole it was dry, and it kept him fairly safe at night, from both people and the elements.

The best thing about it was that it was completely abandoned.

Just like him.

After finishing his pitiful meal, Harry sat down on one of the old barstools and pulled his daily takings from his pocket. He had spent all day on the streets of London; begging, stealing, anything to get enough to survive for another day.

Today had not been a good day.

He counted the change quickly; he had only been able to beg three pounds and four pence today. His short stature and young looks usually won him more than that, but the weather had been poor today, and the people had been sparse and miserable. That, and he had been forced to move on a couple of times during the day when some people had taken a bit too much interest in the fact that a young boy was alone and begging on the streets. He didn't need their 'do-gooder' attitude, he just needed their money.

Putting the change back into his pocket, he moved his attention to the items he had managed to pickpocket earlier that evening. One wallet, one chocolate bar and a ten pound note. _Not a bad haul, really_, he thought to himself.

Harry picked up the chocolate bar and wolfed it down immediately, his stomach protesting slightly at the new food. He would have to be careful when he ate again. Too quickly and he would be sick, something he could ill afford.

Too slowly and he would not get any better.

Putting aside his thoughts on that matter for the moment, since there was little he could do about it now, he pulled the wallet towards himself and searched through it carefully and meticulously. The credit cards would be of no use to him, since he was clearly too young to use one in a shop without it being noticed, but he might be able to sell them on the street to someone who could, at least before the man he had stolen the wallet from could cancel his cards.

He looked through the money fold carefully and pulled out the twenty pound note he found there. Not as much as he had been hoping for, but enough for now. He would have to make it last though. He doubted he would be able to do much more begging, or pick-pocketing for a while; the weather seemed to have taken a turn for the worse, and he couldn't afford to get sick, not when he could barely afford food, let alone medicine.

He would survive though, because luckily Harry knew the true meaning of the phrase 'saving it for a rainy day'.

He added the note to the ten pounds and folded them together carefully, before pulling up his trouser leg. Harry took the notes and shoved them into his ratty sock to join the rest of his meagre savings, careful to smooth them down to hide the small bulge. Harry sighed; by the time the weather finally brightened up, he knew the bulge would be a lot smaller. In fact, if the bad 'British summer' weather lasted longer than a couple of weeks, then he would probably be left with no money at all.

Shaking himself once again, Harry pushed away his miserable thoughts and pulled himself up, wearily making his way up the rickety stairs of the derelict pub. He was exhausted, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep at the moment.

Creeping through the upper flat, partly through habit, and partly in case anyone else had discovered his hideaway, Harry was careful to keep quiet, a practice he had become an expert in. He peeked around the corner into the bedroom, but found that he was quite alone.

His emotions were conflicted when he thought about this. On the one hand, being alone meant he was safe, something he had worked very hard to achieve for himself.

On the other hand, being alone was...well, lonely.

Harry sighed softly and, out of habit, walked over to the adjacent bathroom to test the tap. The water and electricity must have been shut off when the pub had closed down, but each day Harry checked the taps to see if the water miraculously returned.

It hadn't, though, and Harry sighed deeply this time, keeping his eyes down to avoid looking at the dusty mirror at his own haggard appearance. Having not had a shower in a long time, Harry knew he didn't look particularly great and he had no desire to see the evidence of it, especially when there was nothing he could do about it.

Shrugging off his jacket, he walked back into the bedroom and made his way wearily over to the corner. The furniture was sparse in the upstairs of the pub, with little from the original flat remaining, so Harry had to make do with the softest bit of floor he could find.

Pulling off his tattered shoes, but leaving on his clothes, he sunk down to the floor and pulled his jacket over his skinny frame to act as a temporary blanket. Dragging his bag over to use as a pillow, Harry lay down slowly and finally allowed the tension to leave his body. He would worry about tomorrow when it came.

He always did.

* * *

**A/N-** So this is another short chapter, but it's really just a second prologue to set the scene.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed yesterday! I'm fairly certain I'll continue with this, although I'm not 100% sure where it's going yet. I have a general idea, but it might take some time to work it out properly. For the moment though, thanks for reading and let me know whether you liked it!


	3. A Painful Rescue

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 2: A Painful Rescue**

* * *

Harry ran through the streets, his trainers splashing in the muddy puddles as the rain beat heavily onto his back, soaking him to the skin. He sprinted around the corner, coming to a skidding stop just outside his haven.

Pausing only to wipe the wet hair from his eyes, Harry yanked open the wooden board and dived inside, pulling his purchases behind him.

As soon as he made it inside the dusty, old pub, Harry immediately peeled off his drenched jacket and pulled off his squelching shoes, hanging the jacket on the back of a rickety chair to help it dry. He had no other clothes in as good a condition as these, so he had to take care of them. His T-shirt was in a considerably worse condition, covered as it was in dirt and holes, but it too followed the jacket on the back of a chair.

Harry shivered slightly, and hugged his skinny arms around his bare, pale torso, trying to contain what little heat he could. It wasn't a particularly cold day in London, but the constant rain complicated matters. Harry knew from experience that he would get sick if he stayed out in the rain all day, especially without a waterproof coat to protect him from the elements, so he knew he would have to stay inside today at least. He suspected that tomorrow would be no different either.

All in all though, Harry just counted himself lucky that, for the time being, he had a little money in his pocket and a roof over his head, even if it was leaking slightly.

Shrugging to himself, the skinny thirteen year-old sat down at the bar and pulled over the plastic carrier bag that had been his whole reason for the trip outside in the first place.

Food.

Harry's stomach rumbled loudly, but he took his time as he pulled out a loaf of bread, a small bottle of milk, a bottle of water, a tin of cold sausages and beans, and small packet of cooked meat.

The milk was a particular treat; he hadn't had any in so long that he almost forgotten what it tasted like. Popping open the top, Harry gulped the white liquid down greedily, licking his lips at the creamy taste.

He hadn't had anything so wonderful in such a long time, so much so that Harry felt a small grin begin to spread across his face, the muscles in his cheek tightening at the unfamiliar action. The bread soon followed the milk, as he pulled off a huge chunk and shoved it straight into his mouth, barely chewing as he ravenously ate as quickly as he could in order to satisfy his hunger.

After a few moments, though, his stomach churned uncomfortably at the new food and, with great regret, Harry slowed down immediately, recognising the warning signs, and chastising himself harshly for almost making himself sick.

Breathing deeply as his stomach began to fill more slowly this time, Harry felt the smile return, and he added some meat to the bread. Harry ate until he could eat no more, his stomach full for the first time in a long time.

He had been reluctant at first to spend some of his well-earned savings on food, but when he had woken up that morning, bleary eyed and with his thoughts elsewhere, he had accidentally glanced at his reflection in the dirty old mirror in the bathroom, unable to prevent the gasp of shock as he had looked at a face that he had not seen in such a long time.

He remembered, looking back on it now with a clearer head, being particularly struck by just how sallow and sunken his cheeks were, and his whole face had seemed unnaturally gaunt and unhealthy. Cursing himself harshly for his lack of foresight, he had also immediately regretted his decision to take his T-shirt off that morning, ready to change into another, as his uncovered chest too was displayed on the mirror in front of him. Widened eyes had taken in the bare, clearly starving torso, covered in scars that lined his chest in some sort of horrific pattern, varying in size and telling a story of pain and suffering.

A story he knew all too well.

Now, as he sat on the rickety old stool with the remnants of his meal spread out in front of him, the memory of his shock played before his eyes, haunting and taunting him in equal measure. He remembered slowly raising a shaking hand, tracing a particularly long scar that reached almost the entire length of his side. Despite the paleness of his skin, the white lines were clear and he had had to shake his head to dispel the painful memories, a motion he repeated now in the present.

It would do him no good to continue to dwell on the past.

Back in the present for the moment, Harry put down the rest of the bread, and downed the remains of the milk. Shaking himself once again from his memories, Harry ran a hand through his dark black hair, still lost in his thoughts. His hair felt lank and greasy to the touch, and was still wet from the rain, but its length had not changed, a fact that would have been unremarkable except for the fact that he had not had even one haircut in the entire two years he had lived on the streets. He had no idea why his untamable hair behaved that way, but he supposed it was just another thing to add to the list of what made him so strange.

Because odd things always seemed to happen around Harry.

Once, on one of his first nights on the streets, Harry had been running from another street kid who had been trying to steal his shoes when, to his surprise, a thick weed had grown unnaturally quickly through the hard concrete path, tripping his pursuer and allowing Harry to escape.

Another time, whilst he had still lived at the Dursleys, Harry had been cooking in the kitchen when he had dropped a plate. His stomach had dropped in fear as he had watched the plate drop disastrously to the floor, but to his absolute shock it had stopped in mid air, only centimetres before it would have smashed. After hearing his lumbering cousin make his way down the stairs, he had grabbed the plate in a panic, barely saving a thought for why it had been saved in the first place.

He must have had a guilty look on his face, though, because when his Uncle saw him he was punished anyway. Despite the pain though, Harry was well aware that it could have been worse.

His school life, and life at the Dursleys, had been plagued by many strange incidents, but the oddest of them all had to have been that time at the Zoo on Dudley's birthday. Talking to a snake had been weird enough, but when the glass had disappeared as well, Harry had almost fallen down in shock. It would have been funny, but the look on his Uncle's face had quickly evaporated any amusement. That punishment had been one of the worst...

_Don't think about that, _Harry told himself, shaking slightly. He had run away from home not long after that night, and he really didn't want to think about it now.

Picking up the remains of the food, as well as the tin of sausage and beans that he would save for another day, Harry trudged upstairs and made his way to the bedroom. Dumping the food on the floor, Harry tiredly dragged his battered bag over to the corner where he had slept last night. Settling down onto the floor, Harry pulled out the weathered and worn copy of Lord of the Rings that he had picked up from a charity box at one of the local churches.

Harry had not attended school since he had been ten years old, so he knew that he wasn't the best at all things academic, but he had gradually taught himself anything he had wanted to learn, and that including reading, one of the few things he did now purely for pleasure. He had struggled with it once his glasses had been stolen, but since he had few other things that gave him any joy anymore, he had been reluctant to give it up. If he squinted, he could just manage to make out the words, and that was good enough for him.

Of course, he couldn't write very well, especially since he had little need for it, but Harry was far from stupid. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, Harry had bought, or taken, any books he could get his hands on.

So far, Lord of the Rings was by far his favourite.

Making himself as comfortable as he could on the hard wooden floor, Harry settled in to get lost in a fantasy world, preferring to follow the adventures of Frodo and his friends, rather than dwell on his own miserable existence, his stomach comfortably full for once.

Maybe today wouldn't be so bad.

* * *

Ron Weasley was having a bad day.

Well, his whole summer holiday had been fairly miserable actually. He _had_ been looking forward to travelling to Egypt with his family to visit his brother Bill, but at the last minute the trip had been cancelled because something had come up with his dad's work.

If that wasn't enough, his twin brothers Fred and George had been pranking him non-stop. For some reason they had decided to focus all their jokes at his expense this summer, and he hated it. Term at Hogwarts had only finished two weeks ago, but he had already been turned into a badger, had his hair dyed pink and had all the freckles removed from his face.

And now he was lost in gloomy, wet Muggle London.

Wandering through the streets listlessly, Ron thought back to where it had all begun. This morning his family had announced that they were going to visit Diagonal Alley and on a whim, and out of boredom, he had decided to tag along.

That had been his first mistake.

Then, when they had stopped by the Leaky Cauldron for lunch, Ron had become involved in a game of truth and dare that had been admittedly foolish. Eventually, to avoid answering an uncomfortable question about his feelings towards his friend Hermione, Ron had agreed to sneak into Muggle London and come back with a souvenir.

That had been his second mistake.

Once he had entered the London street at the front of the pub, Ron had been immediately caught up in the foot traffic on the pavement, people desperate to make the most of their lunch break. After a few minutes of struggling, Ron had managed to detangle himself from the crowd, but by then it was too late. He didn't recognise where he was any more, and having been turned around in the crowd more times than he could count, he no longer knew which direction to head back in.

In short, he was lost.

Instead of finding a nice cafe somewhere to sit and wait for his parents to come and find him, Ron had decided that he could find his own way back. He was thirteen years old after all. He wasn't a child.

That had been his third mistake.

Now, as he wandered the streets aimlessly, his stomach grumbling loudly as he became more and more miserable with every passing second, he was finally start to see exactly how bad a mistake it had been.

_Stupid twins, _Ron grumbled to himself bitterly as he rounded a corner, walking quickly past an abandoned pub, down the darkened alleyway that he had found himself on.

Subconsciously, the hairs rose on his arms, and he began to get a bad feeling; as if something was wrong. Ron picked up the pace, suddenly nervous for the first time about being alone in an unfamiliar city.

"Hey!"

Ron didn't turn round at the call, merely choosing to keep walking, his speed increasing almost to a run as he kept his gaze to the floor and his head down, trying desperately to avoid any attention.

"Hey! Ginger!"

An arm grabbed him and he was pulled back viciously almost knocking him off balance. Ron turned slowly, his wide eyes as he was greeted with the faces of his aggressors.

There were two boys in front of him, both around his age. One was tall with brown hair whilst the other was short with blond hair, but it was their expressions that caught Ron's attention most. They looked, to put it simply, threatening.

"Erm, yeah?" asked Ron nervously.

"Give us your money!" yelled the smallest one, and to his horror, Ron watched as the youth pulled out a knife.

"What? But I don't-" began Ron, his eyes never leaving the sharp blade of the knife. Not for the first time, he cursed the twins. He had his wand in the waistline of his trousers, but he didn't want to risk breaking the law by performing underage magic in front of muggles, so there was no way he could use it. On top of that, even though he was quite fit after hours spent playing Quidditch with his brothers, there was no way he could take one of these muggles in a fist fight, let alone both.

"Shut it Ginger!" yelled the taller one, before turning to his friend. "Search him."

"Hey," protested Ron as the two youths grabbed him and began pulling at his pockets. He didn't have any Muggle money though, and he was slightly worried what they would do when they found his wand.

"He hasn't got anything!" yelled the blond one in frustration. "Damn!"

Ron sighed in relief. They hadn't found his wand then. Now he just had to work out a way to reach for it without the youths noticing so that he wasn't entirely defenseless.

"Stupid idiot!" shouted his friend, aiming a kick at Ron, knocking him to his knees. Pain exploded in Ron's legs as he fell to the floor, but he had no time to recover before a punch connected his his face.

Blood spurted out of his nose, as Ron's vision blurred in pain. He curled up on the floor, trying to protect as much of his body as he could, trying to protect his wand, but it was no use. He was no match for the two street hardened criminals. Desperation and despair filled him as pain overcame his senses, and only one thought crossed his mind.

He was going to die here today.

"Hey!" came a hoarse voice from the other end of the street. Eyes half shut in pain, Ron squinted over to the mysterious figure, but he couldn't make out much more than the fact that it was clearly a young boy with black messy hair.

It was only a kid. Ron felt hope leave him as rapidly as it had come; maybe he wasn't a saviour after all.

"Hey!" called the voice once again, this time with a bit more confidence in his voice. "Pick on someone your own size!"

"What?" laughed the bigger thug. "Like you?"

"He's done nothing to you," the boy reasoned, oddly calm in Ron's oppinion. "Leave him!"

"Make us, weedy," yelled the blond one, brandishing the knife towards the black haired boy.

Apparently the boy took the thug to his word. Ron gasped aloud as the boy charged over to the bigger of the two teens and tackled him, knocking them both to the ground. Punches flew from both boys, and the second thug joined the fray immediately, causing the three of them to become a tangle of limbs in mere seconds.

The young black haired boy was like an animal though, and it wasn't long before the two thugs were running, much more bloody than they had been on their arrival.

Ron stared at the boy, who couldn't have been much older than twelve, as he picked himself slowly off the ground, his face bloody and his arm hanging limply by his side.

"Are you okay?" the boy asked, grimacing in pain as he hobbled over to Ron.

"Umm, yeah," replied Ron, raising a shaky hand to his bloody nose, relieved to find it wasn't broken and embarrassed to have been caught staring. "What about you?"

The boy shrugged, but even that seemed to cause him pain. "I've had...worse."

Ron didn't doubt that. Up close, the boy looked terrible, and that was even without taking into account his recent injuries. He looked half starved, his thin worn t-shirt hung loosly off his skinny frame, and his skin almost black with dirt. Cuts covered the boy's haggard face, and of what Ron could see of his arms there were numerous cuts, and even some scars there too.

"You don't look well," said Ron worriedly, grabbing onto the boys shoulders as he almost fell to the ground. "Where do you live? I'll take you home."

"Got...nowhere," answered the boy with difficulty, his eyes clenched shut in pain as he pulled himself away from Ron. "You can...go...now. I'll be...fine."

Even as he spoke though, the effort of supporting himself on shaky legs became too much and he paled considerably, his skin now more translucent than Ron thought possible. Moments later the boy's knees gave way, and he fell to the ground wordlessly, Ron's arms now the only thing keeping him upright.

"Yeah, you're completely fine," Ron muttered to himself, looking around for help. The alley was deserted though. Just as he was about to panic, certain that he was holding an unconscious, dying boy in his arms, he heard a voice he had never thought he would hear again.

"Ronnie!" cried Mrs Weasley, running over to her son with tears in her eyes. "Oh, Ronnie, we've been so worried!"

"Son," Mr Weasley said as he quickly followed his wife, concern covering every corner of his face. The twins and Ginny were not far behind, and it was not long before they noticed the state he was in, and the young boy in his arms.

"What happened?" asked Fred anxiously, unable to drag his eyes away from the blood that marred his younger brother's face.

Ron told them the whole story quickly, and the twins paled considerably as the tale progressed. When he got to the part of his mysterious saviour, all eyes moved to the young boy in Ron's arms, his dire condition only just becoming clear now that they knew Ron was alright.

"He's got nowhere to go, Mum," Ron said desperately. "We need to help him!"

Seeing the desperation and concern in her youngest son's face, and having noticed the horrible condition of the black haired boy up close, Molly's resolve crumbled, and she found herself nodding almost subconsciously.

"He can come home with us," Molly said softly as her husband and the twins helped the boys up, and half carried them down the side street. "We'll work out what to do when you're both healed."

Nothing else needed to be said, and with that the family, plus one, made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron, each one of them completely oblivious to just how much their lives were about to change.

* * *

**A/N-** So, thoughts? Is the identity of the boy obvious to everyone? If not, more will be revealed in the next chapter.

Please, please, please review, and let me know what you think. I'm really nervous about this story! I want people to like it, and it really reassures me when people take time out of their day to let me know what they think! It only takes a second, and it will really make my day! Thanks for reading!


	4. Attempting Escape

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 3: Attempting Escape**

* * *

Harry had slept in a lot of different places.

During the ten miserable years he had spent at the Dursleys, scared and alone, a tiny cupboard under the stairs had been his bedroom and a small cot had been his bed. After he had run away from home, he had slept on everything from the cold, wet grass of a deserted park, to the doorstep of a closed shop.

Never though, in his whole life, had he woken up feeling as comfortable as he felt now.

He _was_ still in quite considerable pain from the fight with the two thugs, but even that wasn't as bad as he had perhaps expected. Of course, he had always healed quite quickly when he'd needed to, but even so, whilst his head pounded in rhythm to his beating heart, and his chest ached slightly with every pained breath he took, Harry had woken up expecting to feel much worse then than he did now.

Despite this though, the fight had left his body aching and stinging all over, his shoulder feeling by far the worst. Experimentally he moved his arm, but had to stifle a scream at the intense pain that the action caused.

Once the pain ebbed away to a faint throb, Harry raised his other hand to feel it curiously, completely confused.

At the time, he'd thought he'd broken it outright, but even though it hurt terribly at the moment, Harry had had enough broken bones in his life to know that this should have felt worse. He thought he'd heard it snap though. It wasn't exactly the first time something like this had happened, but still...

Strange.

Pushing this thought aside for a moment though, keeping still so as not to jolt his shoulder again, Harry had to admit that he felt comfortable. The bed he was lying on, for it surely was a bed, had a comfortable mattress that his body sunk into wonderfully. The blanket wrapped around his skinny frame was warm, the fabric soft against his skin, and the pillow that his head lay on was so fluffy that he was sure his head would sink into it and disappear. It felt like heaven, and because of that, he was immediately suspicious.

Where on earth was he?

Without opening his eyes, although he was now wide awake, Harry tried to gather as much information as possible about his location. It was a habit that he had picked up quickly when living rough, especially in some of the more questionable areas he had stayed in. Harry had lost count of the times he had interrupted a potential thief or attacker, ready to run when they hadn't even known he was aware of them. The element of surprise had always been invaluable.

Using all his senses as he lay still under the covers, Harry determined quickly that wherever he was, it was inside and clean, but at the same time he was almost certain he wasn't in a hospital. There was a distinct absence of the sterile odour that a hospital room usually smelt of. Instead it had the homely smell of a well kept house, so as well as ruling out a hospital room, he also immediately ruled out the theory that he might have somehow made it back to his hideaway after the fight.

Scrunching his face to try to quell his anger, Harry took a moment to mourn the loss of yet another place to sleep. There was no way he could go back now, not when he had been spotted in the area. And, not only would he have to find somewhere new to sleep, he had also left behind his battered backpack, containing all his belongings. They were not much really, just odd bits and pieces he had managed to scrounge and save, but they meant the world to him.

Panicking slightly as a stray thought crossed his mind, Harry moved a hand down his trouser leg to his ankle. Feeling around blindly, Harry let out a sigh of relief when he felt the familiar bulge of his savings in his sock.

At least he had not lost everything.

The room was silent, except for a vague hum that Harry couldn't quite place, so he decided that for now at least, he was alone. Opening his eyes a crack, Harry was immediately struck by the colour orange, almost as if he was staring into a direct flame.

Confusion and curiosity overcoming him eventually, Harry opened his eyes fully, blinking furiously as he tried to dispel the blurriness that still plagued him.

Green eyes scanned the area, and his brow furrowed in confusion at the place he had been taken to. The room he was currently lying in was shrouded in a half-light but even that couldn't disguise the brightness of the orange wallpaper. The colour was so intense in fact, that he honestly couldn't tell if it was dawn or dusk.

Suppressing the swell of fear he felt at the unfamiliar surroundings, and putting aside his investigations for the moment, Harry assessed his own condition once again. The first thing he noticed was that he was still fully clothed under the covers, and that his t-shirt, which had been damp when he had put it on to help the red-haired stranger, was now bone dry. It seemed in better condition than he could remember as well, but Harry thought that that might have been his imagination and he shrugged the thought away.

Moving his body slowly to try to counter the achiness that still plagued him, Harry dragged himself into a sitting position on the bed, muffling a groan with his free hand as he twisted his injured shoulder slightly.

Tenderly, with his uninjured arm, Harry pressed a finger to his cheek, pulling it back when he felt a throbbing pain erupt from the area. Nothing too bad, though.

Nothing he couldn't handle.

Although he still felt weak, he realised quickly that he had to take advantage of the fact that he was alone wherever he was, especially since he may not get another chance. If he was lucky, he might be able to sneak out without his captors, whoever they were, being any the wiser.

Shakily, he pulled himself to his feet and hobbled over to the door. His movements, although pained and awkward, were silent, a practised art, and when he reached the door he paused, pressing an ear to the wood.

The other side was silent, and Harry deemed it safe enough to leave. As quietly as he could, he pulled open the door and cautiously poked his head out.

It was deserted.

Creeping down the narrow corridor, Harry looked around curiously. There were family photos everywhere; pictures of a redheaded family enjoying themselves in various activities. For one second, Harry could've sworn he saw one of the pictures move, but he must have imagined it because when he looked back the figures were as still as statues.

In one of the more recent pictures, Harry noticed a familiar face; it was the redheaded boy that he had rescued from those thugs in the street next to his hideaway.

Had the boy taken him back to his house?

Harry's memories after the fight were blurry at best, so he couldn't be sure. He remembered the two thugs leaving, and he remembered making his way painfully over to the boy he had saved, but his injuries and weakness had quickly caught up with him, and the last thing he recalled was a shrill woman's voice shouting 'Ronnie.'

Harry guessed that 'Ronnie' was the boy he saved, but he hadn't remained conscious long enough to find out.

The appearance of the boy in the photo, though, led Harry to believe that 'Ronnie' had taken him back with him. Why though, Harry had no idea, but he supposed he was grateful. There was always a chance that the thugs could have come back, and if he had been knocked out cold then he would have been an easy target.

Harry's sock covered feet crept silently down the stairs, and his senses were on full alert, poised and ready to run if it became necessary. The redhead might have done him a favour by taking him to what seemed to be a relatively safe place, but it didn't mean Harry was about to stick around. He was used to taking care of himself, and he had no reason to trust these people, no matter how much they helped him.

No, it was better to leave now, maybe start again somewhere new.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, Harry paused again, straining his ears to take note of any sound.

There was a loud snoring coming from the room directly in front of him. Unfortunately, Harry couldn't see any other way out of the strange, cramped house, so pushing the door open gently, Harry crept in, hoping that he could get past the sleeping person without waking him up.

Moving quietly through what seemed to be a cosy living room, Harry held his breath as he passed the ginger haired boy sleeping on the couch. It was indeed the boy he had saved, made all the more clear by the huge, dark bruise that covered his nose. The boy's maroon pjyamas covered the rest of him, but Harry guessed there were a few more bruises on the rest of his body too.

Harry turned away slowly, and crept past the couch, stopping just shy of what seemed to be the front door. Raising a nervous hand, Harry was moments away from freedom when he heard a voice behind him.

"You're awake."

Harry flinched violently and raised his fists as he swung around to meet his potential attacker, tensed ready to flee if necessary.

"I...I won't hurt you," said the young red-haired boy unsurely as he stood in front of him, the couch now empty.

Embarrassed slightly, Harry cautiously raised his eyes to meet those of the boy he had saved, 'Ronnie' if his memory could be trusted.

"I'm Ron," greeted the boy, warily moving forward offering his right hand for a hand shake. Harry couldn't help it; the movement triggered some memories better left unremembered, and he stepped back immediately, his back hitting the door with a thud.

"Sorry...I'm sorry," Ron said and he stopped his advancement immediately. He looked at Harry and Harry stared back, the pair studying each other for a moment.

Squirming uneasily, Harry fidgeted as he tried to think of a way out of the situation. He hated being alone with people in a small space. It made him feel uncomfortably vulnerable, and at the moment Harry wanted nothing more than to escape, like a small animal trapped in a cage. Something must have been obvious in his expression, though, because Ron's eyes widened slightly in understanding.

"Please don't leave," Ron said somewhat desperately.

"Why?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse through lack of use.

Ron looked momentarily surprised at this, unsure of what to say, but after a moment he seemed to come to a decision, and he smiled at Harry in what he clearly deemed to be a reassuring way.

"Because you haven't even had breakfast yet," Ron said, looking vaguely pleased with himself.

As if it had heard the words itself, Harry's stomach grumbled loudly, but he held firm. He had been hungry before and he would be hungry again. He could handle it.

Ron frowned at Harry's defiance but he didn't give up.

"You could have a shower," Ron said, somewhat desperately. "Not that you smell, but...well..."

Ron trailed off at the embarrassment that flushed over Harry's face, but the damage had been done.

Living on the streets, Harry had been more concerned with surviving day to day. He hadn't enough space in his brain to worry about his appearance. However, surrounded as he was now by _civilised _people, his own lack of hygiene became more obvious, and he couldn't help but be ashamed by it.

"I'm sorry," Ron said apologetically, his face dropping. "It's just...Look, you saved me. I owe you one, okay? Please let me help. Let us help. My mum can heal you. I can tell you're still hurt."

Harry subconsciously brought a hand to his injured shoulder, but he didn't say anything. Instead he just stood completely still as he looked up at Ron with wide, green eyes, uncertainty clear in his expression.

"We won't hurt you, I promise."

Looking at the sincerity in Ron's eyes, Harry felt confusion overcome him. It had been a long time since anyone had even looked at him without disgust, let alone had actually wanted him to stay around.

Taking a deep breath, Harry nodded slowly, unable to speak as the lump in his throat constricted his vocal cords slightly.

"Shall I show you where the shower is?" Ron said cautiously, clearly trying not to offend or embarrass the black haired boy any further. Harry didn't answer though, nor did he move. With a deep breath, Harry stepped away from the door towards Ron, his hand outstretched.

"I'm Harry," he said hoarsely, his voice almost a whisper, his expression still wary as if he half-expected Ron to knock his gesture back.

Ron smiled widely, his relief palpable in the air as he shook the other boy's hand. "It's nice to meet you, Harry."

The pair looked at each other, neither making any further moves, but the tension that had been there only moments ago seemed to evaporate from the very air.

Ron cleared his throat, and took a cautious step towards Harry. The black haired boy stood his ground this time, his eyes never leaving the other boy's face.

"How old are you?" Ron asked, slightly more eager to continue the conversation now that Harry seemed more willing to talk. "I'm thirteen."

"I'm...twelve," Harry answered quietly, deciding on a whim to tell the truth. "I'll be thirteen soon."

"Brilliant!" exclaimed Ron with a smile. "You're my age, then."

Harry nodded warily, but he failed to see why that was so 'brilliant'. His birthdays had never been anything to celebrate, even before his life on the streets.

Seeing the serious expression that had grown gradually on the face of the boy in front of him as the seconds had passed, the smile fell from Ron's face, and he became serious once again.

"Do you want to sit down for a minute?" Ron asked with a frown. "No offence, but you seem like you're about to pass out again."

Harry nodded cautiously, since he did feel a little faint now that he thought about it, and moved over to the couch gingerly. Ron moved with him, immediately slumping down onto the large comfortable cushions, but Harry stopped just before he reached the seat.

Having seen Harry's reluctance, Ron asked, "What's wrong?"

Harry's cheeks flushed pink, and his gaze lowered to the ground.

"I'm dirty," Harry whispered. "My clothes...I'll get the couch dirty."

Flashbacks flew through his mind against his will; memories of slaps from his Aunt whenever he dared to sit on their living room furniture.

"_You dirty freak!"_

Harry scrunched his eyes shut tightly, his fists clenched as he tried desperately to shove away the unwanted memories. In the end, it was Ron's voice that brought him back.

"Hey mate," Ron said cautiously, his expression one of concern. "My mum...she won't mind. Honestly."

"Okay," Harry choked out, and mechanically he lowered himself down onto the couch, his fists still clenched as he fought to regain control.

This was why it was better to be alone. When he was alone, there were no rules to follow.

When he was alone, there were no punishments for breaking the rules.

"So, Harry," Ron began uncomfortably, trying to ignore the fact that Harry was sat as far away from him as humanly possible. "How do you feel? Mum tried to heal you, but she didn't want to do too much with your head injury, and...well, she's not an expert..."

"I feel better," Harry answered, interrupting Ron's ramblings. "My head still hurts...but...I'm okay."

He shrugged, but pain erupted in his shoulder and he couldn't prevent a groan, his hand moving quickly to try to suppress the pain, squeezing the area tightly.

"Yeah, and I'm a raging hippogriff," Ron muttered off-handedly, and his tone was so matter of fact, his expression so normal, that Harry couldn't help it.

He giggled.

It bubbled out of him, escaping from some place deep inside of him where it had been hiding for all these years.

Ron smiled, and soon he joined Harry in fits of giggles that made the two of them look much more their age, much younger than they had only moments before. It felt good to laugh, and Harry felt something release inside of himself, like some long lost forgotten memory, finally resurfacing.

After a few minutes of uncontrollable laughter, and after a few deep breaths, Harry managed to calm himself enough to speak. Turning on the sofa, his face straight once again, he looked at the laughing redheaded boy and smiled, his first true smile in a long time.

Something had changed between them, and although Harry still felt uncomfortable in the strange house, and although he had many questions that it made his brain hurt, he no longer felt overwhelmed. He no longer had the urge to escape, because it was as if something was pulling him in.

It was almost as if he had found someone who was on his side. Almost like a friend.

The feeling was so unusual, so foreign to Harry, that his head throbbed vaguely as he tried to comprehend it. He had never had anyone who cared about him, and this small show of kinship, this small show of concern had nearly undone Harry, almost to the point of hysterics.

The ordinary boy, with red hair and maroon pyjamas had changed something in Harry.

He didn't want to be alone anymore, and that thought alone scared him. He had never had anyone to rely on before, and to put his trust in people he didn't even know would take a bravery Harry wasn't even sure he possessed.

Taking a deep breath, his face much more serious than it had been only moments before, Harry turned to Ron.

"Do you think..." Harry began, his throat tightening slightly with nerves. "I mean...your family...they won't hurt me will they? They don't mind me being here?"

Ron's face grew serious, and he looked at Harry with an intensity which, whilst not threatening, still made Harry shrink back slightly.

"You're a friend," Ron said with a certainty that gave Harry an odd feeling in his chest. "And my family...they're good people. We'll look after you. You're welcome here, I promise."

Tears pricked at Harry's eyes, and he had to turn away before he broke down completely.

"Harry, it'll be okay you know," Ron said, trying to reassure the small, frail looking boy beside him.

Harry said nothing, and clearing his throat, Ron decided that maybe Harry needed a few moments to himself. He began to stand up, but Harry started to speak before he could leave.

"I've never had a real friend before," Harry said quietly, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground, uncertainty clear in his demeanor. "I might not be a good one."

"You've already saved my life," Ron said, as he looked over to the black haired boy in understanding. "_And _you laughed at my joke. That makes you a pretty good friend in my book."

Harry looked at Ron, and noting not only the sincerity in his words, but the truthfulness in his eyes, he nodded slowly, a smile creeping back onto his face.

Maybe he could do this.

"Hippogriffs?" Harry asked quietly with a small grin, trying to look serious but failing miserably.

Ron snorted, and they both fell about laughing again, worries and concerns forgotten for the moment.

It felt good to laugh at something so silly, and for now Harry let himself enjoy it.

He let himself forget.

* * *

**A/N-** Another chapter is done! I hope you all enjoyed it! Your reviews have been so encouraging to me, and I'd just like to take a moment to thank each and every one of you! Hopefully you like where your encouragement has taken me!

It's 2.44 a.m. in England at the moment, so I'm tired, but I really wanted to get this out there. Your excitement feeds my excitement! I really hope it was worth it! Thanks for reading!


	5. A Matter of Trust

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 4: A Matter of Trust**

* * *

Molly woke slowly that morning, the dawn's light bright against her unadjusted eyes. Her mind felt foggy, a product of a night filled with strange dreams that she could no longer recall, and it took her a while for her sleepy brain to remember why she had gone to bed in such an odd frame of mind. Once she had, however, she lay in bed, finding it necessary to take a moment to allow last night's events to sink in before she faced the new day.

When the twins had come up to her that afternoon in the Leaky Cauldron, with identically guilty expressions on their faces, she had known instinctively that they had done something she would be angry with.

Exasperated, she had confronted them, half-expecting to hear about some ill-advised prank on an unsuspecting customer but, to her growing horror, instead they had told her what Ron had done, and how long he had been missing.

She too had noticed his disappearance from lunch of course, but she had merely thought that he had been exploring Diagon Alley or meeting a friend, as all her children sometimes did.

Once she had realised that he was no longer in Diagonal Alley at all and had instead left for Muggle London, worry and concern had overcome her and she'd quickly become frantic.

It was her worst nightmare come true, and even now, as her son slept soundly on their couch, safe and well, her heart fluttered slightly in rememberance of the fear that had overcome her in that moment.

Panic had grappled with fear, and it had taken a frantic trip to the underage magic department in the Ministry, and favour called in by Arthur, for them to track Ron's wand, thus giving them his location.

When she had finally rounded the corner and had seen her son all beaten up and bloodied, she had run over to him, completely disregarding any danger he could still be in.

Once Ron had told his story, though, she had finally taken notice of the poor boy in her son's arms. Her heart had broken as she took in the terrible condition of the black haired boy, and when Ron had looked at her, with those wide desperate eyes, she had already made her decision.

_'He's got nowhere to go, Mum'. _

They had rushed home then, mysterious black haired boy in tow, worry marring everyone's faces. Even the twins had been uncharacteristically serious on the journey back and the unconscious state of Ron's saviour had made them all concerned. In truth though, it was quite fortunate that the boy had been unconscious, because they had had to use the floo to get back, a fact that would no doubt have frightened him had he been awake to experience it.

Once they had arrived home, Arthur had carried the poor boy over to the couch, placing him down tenderly before taking all the kids out of the room. Molly had then set to work, trying to heal him as best she could. When he had begun to stir, she had been forced to use a sleeping charm, which had sent him into a more peaceful state. She had been reluctant to do so, but she had known that if he had woken up then he would have only hurt himself more. He needed sleep to help him heal.

Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot else she could do to help him, since she was no medical expert. After she had fixed his shoulder, Arthur had carried the sleeping boy up to Ron's room, since Ron had agreed to sleep on the couch for the night. She had considered giving the boy a bath first, but she didn't want to invade his privacy. Molly had vowed, though, to at least make sure he had clean clothes to change into when he woke up.

She and Arthur had gone to bed then, but there had been no discussions about the boy staying in their house, a boy neither of them even knew the name of. She knew, without asking, that Arthur would want to help the poor child as much as she did, and that they would talk about it when more facts became clear.

* * *

Now, as she dressed and made her way down to make a start on breakfast, Molly thoughts were focused once more on the poor boy, and how they could possibly help him, or at the very least thank him.

Her ponderings, however, were quickly interrupted by the sound of laughing that was coming from downstairs, and she paused on the stairs to listen. It was a child's laughter, and immediately her susicious nature came into play, honed by the years spent raising two pranksters.

Walking more quickly, Molly made her way to the living room door. Pressing her ear to the door, she tried to work out whether or not the twins were up to mischief again. Hearing an unfamiliar voice though, she realised with a jolt that it was probably the young boy they had rescued last night and her eyebrows raised in surprise.

Deciding quickly to see what was going on, curiosity and concern overcoming her, Molly took hold of the handle and opened the door quietly, walking through the door until both the mysterious boy and her son noticed her presence.

The effect of her arrival was instantaneous.

The young boy jumped out of the seat he had been perched on and retreated backwards until his back slammed against the wall, fear not only clouding his eyes but also seeming to escape from every pore in his body.

It was as if the laughter had been sucked from the room, and the smile quickly fell from Ron's face as he looked over to the boy in concern.

He was like a trapped animal, his striking green eyes widened in terror, darting across the room as he clearly looked for an escape. She stopped in the doorway, raising her hands in a placating manner and fixing what she hoped was a friendly expression of her face.

Now that he was awake, Molly could get a better look at his condition, and she didn't like what she saw.

The gauntness of the boy's cheeks, like those of a dying man, told tales of starvation and hunger, the likes of which no child should ever experience. From what she could see of his skin, he was pale, but it was difficult to tell because of the layers of mud and grime that caked his face and hair.

He was small, so small, and the clothes he was wearing, those that she had left him to sleep in last night, were ragged and old. Clearly they did not fit him. His T-shirt, which she had not been able to resist fixing slightly when she had put him to bed last night, was still filthy and had numerous holes in. It hung off his very thin frame, only serving to extenuate the skinniness of the young boy.

His trousers, on the other hand, were clearly too small for him. They stopped well short of the boy's ankles, revealing a pair of dirty socks, and the trousers were worn within an inch of their life, holey, ripped and covered in everything from mud to an odd brown substance that looked suspiciously like dried blood.

When they had found him, he hadn't even been wearing shoes.

Ron's words came back to her once again.

_He's got nowhere to go._

"Harry, mate," Ron said carefully, trying not to frighten his new friend any more. "This is my mum. She won't hurt you, I promise."

The boy, Harry, looked over to Ron, staring at her son's face for a long moment, but he must have found what he was looking for because when he turned back to her, the fear had left, although his body was still tense, and wariness filled his expression instead.

"Hello," he whispered uncomfortably, his voice so quiet that she had to strain her ears to hear him.

He looked like a fish out of water, but at least he seemed less inclined to flee now.

"Hello, Harry dear," she said kindly, careful to keep her tone soft. "I'm Molly Weasley. How are you feeling this morning? You took a nasty bump on the head yesterday."

"I'm okay," Harry mumbled, clearly reluctant to elaborate.

An awkward silence filled the air then, and Harry began to fidget, clenching and unclenching his fists as he struggled with something. After a few moments though, he spoke, his voice slightly louder than before.

"Erm...thanks," Harry began unsurely, his voice still hoarse. "You know, for letting me stay here. But I need to go now. I need to go back."

Molly furrowed her brow in confusion, her eyes rising to meet those of her son's saviour. It was as she was staring into those striking green depths, so wide and vulnerable, that realisation hit her.

He was scared.

It was so clear to Molly now, that she almost cursed herself with her own wand. He was terrified of her, of them, of being in a place he didn't recognise, taken from a place he knew against his will.

He was scared, and she really couldn't blame him for it.

"I won't hurt you," Molly said gently, her heart breaking as she realised why she was saying these words. The boy had saved her son, and to repay him, they had terrified him.

"I know," Harry said, although his eyes betrayed his true feelings. "I mean, Ron told me...but...I don't belong here. I'm...not one of you."

"Don't be silly," Molly said gently as she tried to ignore the concerned look her youngest son was shooting her. "You're very welcome to stay here as long as you want."

"But...you don't even know me," Harry said desperately, and from his expression, Molly could see that he was genuinely confused. Steeling herself, she tried to suppress the anger she felt towards whoever had treated the boy so badly that he didn't even know how to react when someone was trying to be nice to him.

"No, I don't know you," Molly said sadly, moving slowly towards Harry. He tensed palpably, but he didn't try and flee, and for that she was grateful. "But I would like to get to know you. I don't know why you did it, but you saved my son. He was a stranger to you, and you saved him. We don't have a lot of money, but let us help you."

Harry's eyes widened, but this time not in fear but in shock. Tears glistened at the edges of his eyes, and he seemed to be holding his hands tightly by his side as he tried in vain to contain his emotions.

"I...I don't have anything to give you," Harry said desperately. "I can't pay you back."

"Oh, dear, we don't care about that. Please, let us help you," she begged.

For some reason, she felt inexplicably linked to the young black haired boy with the green eyes. Something about him pulled her in, and it wasn't simply that fact that he had saved her son.

It was something in his eyes, she decided. Something so tortured, as if his very soul was screaming out for help. He needed someone to care, and it was abundantly clear that he didn't have anyone else.

_He's got nowhere to go._ She suspected he didn't have _anyone _either.

"Please mate," Ron pleaded, and Harry turned his attention to her youngest son. His whole demeanor was uncertain and confused, and it was clear that he was completely overwhelmed.

"Ron," Molly interceded. "Why don't you go and set up for breakfast."

She gave him a meaningful look and thankfully he seemed to understand. Giving one last pleading look towards his new friend, Ron moved to the kitchen and Molly was left alone with Harry. The young boy tensed even more and moved away slightly, and she had to force away the anger at the people in his life that had made him scared to be alone with adults, even those who meant him no harm.

"Now, Harry dear," Molly began cautiously, concerned slightly by the fear that had returned to the young boy's eyes. "You don't need to tell me anything you don't want to, but there is one thing I need to know."

Harry looked apprehensive, but he nodded almost imperceptivity, and she felt relief run through her when it became clear that he hadn't shut down completely.

"You live on your own, don't you?" Molly asked, and after a long moment Harry nodded. "Where are your parents, Harry?"

The look of sadness and loneliness on his face broke her heart, and she had to make a special effort to prevent the tears that wanted to escape from falling down her face.

"They're dead," Harry whispered. "They...they died in a car crash when I was a baby."

"So who's supposed to be looking after you?" Molly asked gently. She didn't add that they seemed to be doing a terrible job.

"I don't want to go back," Harry said quickly, his eyes wide in panic.

"Go where, Harry?" Molly asked. Harry though, shook his head almost violently.

"I won't go back," Harry said firmly, his stance one of fight or flight. His eyes darted around the room, as if looking for an escape route again, and Molly had to act quickly or she feared he would run.

"You don't have to go anywhere you don't want to, Harry," Molly said firmly. "We'll work it out. Together."

"Together?" Harry whispered softly, as if the very thought was unfamilar to him.

"Yes, dear," Molly replied, a sad smile on her face. "Ron seems to have decided to take you under his protection. He's a stubborn one, Ron is. I'm afraid to say, you're one of us now."

"I'm...what?" Harry asked uncertainly as he looked up from the floor to meet her gaze.

"Listen," Molly said gently. "You don't have to decide anything right now. You can take some time to think about it. But, Harry, you're welcome here for as long as you want to stay."

"I can stay here?" Harry asked, his eyes glistening again. "But I'm nothing to you. You don't know me even know me."

"Then we'll have to get to know each other, won't we?" Molly said, trying to inject some cheerfulness into her tone. "And you are certainly not nothing. First though, I think perhaps you might like a shower."

Harry blushed, but when he looked into Molly's face, he saw no pity or disgust there. He didn't speak, but he nodded reluctantly and followed her out of the room and up the stairs.

"This is the bathroom," Molly told him, opening a door not far from the room he had slept in. "Now, here are some of Ron's old clothes for you to wear when you've cleaned yourself up a bit."

Harry opened his mouth almost at once, but Molly quickly interrupted any protests he had.

"Now don't be silly, Harry dear," Molly said. "I don't want any arguments. These don't fit Ron anymore and he doesn't have any younger brothers to pass them on to. They aren't in perfect condition, but they're better than what you have now."

"Okay," Harry murmured, taking the offered bundle of clothes cautiously.

"Take as long as you need, Harry," Molly said as she gestured him into the bathroom after noticing his reluctance. "There'll be some breakfast waiting for you when you're finished."

She said this last statement casually, but in truth she was deadly serious. The boy in front of her was in need of a decent meal, and she felt it was her duty as a mother to at least fatten him up whilst she could.

She left him then, hoping that he would be able to manage on his own. Of course, he had been on his own for a long time, it appeared, but she couldn't help but worry about him.

He had already had an impact on her, and it seemed irreversible. It didn't matter that he was a muggle boy and that they were wizards. It didn't matter that he had clearly suffered great trauma in his life, something she knew she could never understand in the way he would need someone to.

Molly didn't know where he came from, or even his last name, but Harry, the boy who had saved her son, was now a part of her life, and if she had any say in the matter, it would stay that way.

* * *

When Ron's mum finally closed the door behind her to give him some privacy, Harry released a deep breath and finally allowed the tension to leave his body.

He had never been comfortable being alone with other people. Spending time with Ron was one thing, but adults were a completely different problem. He didn't feel safe, and to be honest, he had a lot of experiences that would act as good evidence to back that fear up.

Now that he was alone he could start to relax a bit, but he still hated feeling so off-kilter.

In truth, he didn't know what to make of Ron and his family.

They seemed nice enough, but Harry couldn't work out why they cared about him. Yes, he had saved Ron, but honestly that had been nothing special. Ron had still been hurt, and the boys who had attacked him had both gotten away, and yet Ron and his mum were so desperate to help him, to thank him. Harry didn't understand.

No one had cared about him before, so why should they suddenly care now?

Harry growled in frustration as he pulled off his ratty clothing and fiddled with the unfamiliar shower. He hated not knowing what was going on.

Life was so much simpler when he was alone.

Stepping under the water, Harry pushed his painful thoughts away as he allowed the hot water to hit his battered body. It had been so long since he had had a shower that he couldn't prevent the sigh of relief from escaping his mouth.

It would feel good to be clean, at least.

He began to scrub almost viciously at his skin, trying to erase the grime that covered him, doing his best to ignore the pain that the action caused in his shoulder.

He couldn't erase his doubts and uncertainties though, and hot tears escaped from his eyes, travelling down the rivers of mud on his cheeks and dropping to the floor, becoming invisible in the pool of water and dirt as he washed away as much as he could of his previous life.

* * *

**A/N-** Well this was quite emotional, eh? It's not my best, but hopefully it wasn't boring at least!

So, Mrs Weasley has entered the picture now. I hope you like how I wrote her? Don't worry, the rest of the Weasley clan will be coming in soon! And poor Harry! Will they ever find out who he is? Will he ever find out about magic? Stay tuned to find out!

A little warning though, the next update might be a while since I'm about to go on holiday. Please be patient though. I will return! Thanks for all your reviews, and most of all, thanks for reading!


	6. The First Step

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 5: The First Step**

* * *

"How is he, Molly?" Arthur asked quietly as he walked over to the stove where his wife was busily preparing breakfast. He had been woken early this morning by the voices coming from downstairs, but he had decided on instinct to stay away and let Molly deal with it.

Somehow, he had a feeling now, as he stood in the kitchen as the morning light shone through the window, that he had made the right decision.

He could tell, especially from the way Molly was working almost feverishly on preparing the eggs, that something had happened, and that it had something to do with the boy they had rescued last night. Having seen his terrible condition, obviously a long term problem rather than something new, Arthur knew that the boy was probably feeling overwhelmed by everything. He suspected that his presence wouldn't have helped matters.

Arthur had faith in his wife though. He had never met anyone with as much compassion in their soul as Molly Weasley, and if anyone could make the boy feel welcome in their home, she could.

As she turned to face him now, Arthur was particularly struck, though, by the tiredness and concern on Molly's face, at a level that had not even been reached last night as she had attempted to heal the boy.

Oh, something had definitely happened.

"He tried to leave this morning," Molly replied wearily, answering the question that had formed Arthur's thoughts only moments before. "The boy...his name's Harry. He was almost out the door, but Ron woke up and somehow managed to convince him to stay."

She gave a sad smile to him as she turned back to look after the bacon, her hand shaking slightly as she turned the sizzling meat over. Arthur's expression changed quickly to worry and his mood plummeted almost immediately when he realised that she wasn't quite finished.

"There's more, isn't there?" Arthur asked somewhat shrewdly, and he didn't even need to ask the question really, as the answer was clear on his wife's face.

"He was terrified when I first met him," Molly said angrily, almost losing the bacon from the pan as she allowed her emotions to take control for a moment. "Someone has hurt that poor boy."

"His parents?" Arthur asked, his eyes wide in horror as the implication of his wife's words finally sunk in.

"They're dead. He never even knew them," Molly replied sadly as she served the food onto four plates.

Breakfast would hopefully be a more quiet affair this morning.

Percy had secured an internship at the Ministry so he wasn't going to be around the Burrow much over the summer, and the twins had taken Ginny to the Lovegood's House for breakfast, so it was only Molly, Arthur, Ron and Harry at the Burrow for the moment, hence the use of only four plates.

She honestly didn't want to do anything to overwhelm the boy any more, especially after seeing his reaction earlier, and she knew her family could be boisterous at the best of times. Ron had flat out refused to leave, but even so, the absence of the twins alone made things a bit easier.

"Whoever hurt him," continued Molly, as she sat down wearily at the table, "was _supposed_ to be looking after him! He's terrified of going back. Arthur, we can't let him go back!"

"Hush," soothed Arthur as he sat down and pulled her into a gentle hug. "We'll do what we can Molly. That's all anyone can ask of us."

"But he's all on his own, Arthur," Molly said desperately, mirroring the words Ron had said to them in the alleyway as the tears of worry finally escaped from the corner of her eyes. "Do you think we can help him?"

"We'll do our best," assured Arthur softly as he stood up. "Where is he now?"

"He's taking a shower," Molly replied, raising a shaking hand to brush a tear from her cheek. "I've given him some of Ron's old clothes to wear. Ron's in his room, sorting out the spare camp bed. Harry seems to be more comfortable around someone his own age, so I thought it would better if they shared a room for the time being."

"You did the right thing, Molly," assured Arthur as he noticed the doubt swirling in his wife's eyes.

"There's something else," Molly said unsurely as she glanced towards her husband. "It could be nothing, but..."

"What is it?" Arthur said, anticipation mounting by the second.

"I...Last night when I tried to heal him," began Molly, "he was so badly hurt. His head injury...well, I almost fire-called St Mungo's at one point."

"What are you trying to say?" asked Arthur, his brow furrowed in confusion as he looked towards his wife.

"He was badly hurt," Molly said. "He shouldn't even be awake yet, let alone be up and about."

Molly raised her eyes to meet those of her husband, almost imploring him to come to the same conclusion as she herself had.

"You think he's healing himself," Arthur said, comprehension blossoming in his expression. "You think he might be magical."

"Is it so impossible?" asked Molly quietly as they heard the shower turn off finally. "He could be a muggle-born who never made it to Hogwarts. It wouldn't be the first time."

"I can ask Professor Dumbledore, if you want," Arthur said softly. "He'll know if any muggle-born students didn't reply to their Hogwarts letter. If he's a runaway like we suspect, it's possible that the envelope simply couldn't find an address for him. He may not have had an address at all."

"Please, ask Professor Dumbledore" said Molly gratefully, sighing deeply. "I just want to help him. It's clear he doesn't know anything about our world, but if he's magical, it would make things easier on all of us."

"That it would," agreed Arthur, nodding. If the boy was going to be staying with them for the time being, hiding the fact that they were magical would have been almost impossible in the long term, and revealing magic to muggles in circumstance like these was always a dangerous grey area in the law. "I'll think I'll skip breakfast and head over to Hogwarts before work."

Arthur stood up and walked over to the back door, straightening his robes as he grabbed his notes for work.

"Look after him, Molly-wobbles," Arthur said with a small, sad smile as he gave his wife a kiss on the cheek. "We'll have this sorted in no time."

Optimism had always been one of Arthur's best qualities, but although he was doing his best to remain positive for the sake of his wife, even he had his concerns for what they were trying to undertake.

He knew from the look in his wife's eyes though, that the decision was already made. She had fallen hard for the young boy they had rescued, and Arthur knew from experience that she would do everything in her power to help him. If that meant that they had yet another mouth to feed, so be it.

If they could help the boy, then they would. It was as simple as that.

* * *

Harry walked slowly down the narrow stairs, one hand tightly grasping his old, ratty clothes and the other tugging slightly at the feel of the new ones that he had been given.

It wasn't that they were uncomfortable; in fact, the problem was that they fit him quite well. He was so unused to the sensation, since he had not even had clothes that fit him when he had lived at the Dursleys, that the clothes felt weird on his small frame.

The fabric of the t-shirt was soft, much softer than his old dirty one, and felt wonderful against his newly cleaned skin. His hair, whilst still damp, was clean for the first time in a long time, and seemed blacker than ever now that it was free of mud and dust.

Harry felt good, and that put him instantly on alert. He had spent so much of his life simply surviving that he was wary of allowing himself to fall into a false sense of security now. In his experience, good things never lasted, and in all honesty, Harry didn't want to set himself up for a fall.

It would hurt too much.

Clenching his fist slightly in an attempt to stop his nervous ministrations, Harry steeled himself to enter the kitchen, the smell of food just too good for his starving stomach to ignore.

He hovered outside the closed doorway though, suddenly nervous about going into the kitchen. Ron's mum _had _said he could have something to eat, hadn't she?

Doubt clouded his mind as he fought against the panic that was rising up within him. He hated not knowing what he was supposed to do.

Living on the streets, he had had no rules to follow except his own, but everything was changing now, and he was terrified.

Would it be like it was at the Dursleys? Harry had never experienced family life except at Privet Drive, but even there he had never really been included. He suspected that the Dursleys weren't exactly representative of what family life should be like, but what if he was wrong?

What if he did something wrong?

"Harry?"

Harry jumped slightly on instinct, immediately regretting the fact that he had allowed himself to dwell so deeply in his thoughts that he had lowered his guard. Already his survival instincts were fading away because of the comfort and kindness being offered to him here, and Harry felt a thrill of fear run through him as he thought about what that would mean if he ever went back to the streets.

"Harry," Ron said with a frown, as he joined Harry in the kitchen doorway. "It's only me, mate."

"Sorry," said Harry, instantly flushing, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"Shall we go in then?" Ron said unsurely, having noticed Harry's embarrassment, but clearly willing to ignore it.

Harry, having pushed away his previous doubts for the moment, happily grabbed on to the excuse to escape his embarrassment. He nodded and nervously followed a relieved looking Ron as he walked through the doorway into the kitchen.

Wonderful smells wafted towards Harry as he entered through the threshold. Food he hadn't eaten in years was being loaded onto the table, in piles that would feed at least ten people comfortably, and Harry's mouth watered at the sight, almost tempting him to grab at the food and eat as much as he could before it was taken away, or eaten by someone else.

That's how it had always happened at the Dursleys. Harry would cook the food, and then he would likely be forced to watch as his cousin and Uncle demolished it, leaving barely a crumb for Harry to scrounge later.

His eyes wide in hunger, Harry dragged his attention away from the feast to greet Ron's mum, his stance wary, but with much less fear in his expression.

It was her eyes, he decided. Her eyes were kind, something he hadn't really noticed during their awkward first meeting. It was clear to him now though, as she silently invited him to sit at the table, wordlessly taking the ratty clothes from his unresisting hand so that she could no doubt destroy them, that whatever happened during his stay here, however brief it was, somehow he believed she wouldn't hurt him.

Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, Harry sat down, and didn't miss the look of relief that briefly flicked over her face at the action.

"Here you go, Harry dear," she said kindly, picking up his empty plate and loading it with eggs and bacon, far more than Harry had ever eaten in one sitting in his entire life. "Eat as much as you can."

Nervously, Harry took the offered plate and began to pick at the food, desperately trying to taper down the instinct to wolf down the food as quickly as possible, desperate as he was to sate the agony of the hunger he felt. It was even harder, though, because in the seat opposite him, Ron was doing precisely that. Harry knew, though, from long, hard experience, that he didn't have that luxury.

Molly seemed to know it too, and she gave him a small, sad smile as he lifted the fork to his mouth slowly, her eyes encouraging, but holding an emotion that Harry couldn't quite decipher.

Was it pity? Sympathy?

It was another thing he didn't know, and he knew it would be a while before he became as good at reading human behaviour as he had had in the past. Years of living the Dursleys had taught Harry how to read every situation, every emotion on his Uncle's face, anything that would give him a slight advantage in his quest to survive.

If his Uncle had had a bad day, or was simply in a bad mood, Harry had often paid the price, and over the years, he had become very good at spotting those emotions early, thereby staying out of his Uncle's way and avoiding much of the anger that would no doubt have been directed at him, had he been there to take it.

Now though, after years of living on his own, with minimal human contact, the skills had diminished somewhat through lack of practice.

Pushing this new consideration and worry to the side for the moment, Harry continued to eat at a sedated pace, choosing instead to savour each wonderful bite, as he cherished the first hot food he had had in years.

All too soon, though, Harry felt his stomach begin to rebel, and it was with a heavy heart, and a slightly protesting brain, that Harry pushed his half eaten plate away from himself. Unfortunately though, he knew it was for the best. He couldn't afford to be sick.

"Finished, dear?" Molly asked kindly, and Harry noticed that she had barely eaten anything herself as most of her focus had been on watching him.

Harry nodded in reply and nervously stood, picking his plate up, and making a move towards the sink to wash it up.

"Don't worry about that," Molly said, stopping him in his tracks. "Ron will sort those out."

Ron, who was still stuffing his mouth full of food, spluttered slightly at this, but a stern look from his mother quickly stalled any serious protests. Reluctantly, Ron picked up his own plate and walked over to Harry, taking his plate from him before making his own way over to the sink.

"Sit back down, Harry dear," Molly said kindly, but Harry was a little unsure. Was he in trouble? She seemed worried about something, and apprehension grew in Harry as he saw her nervously wring her hands together as she gestured him to sit down.

"Now," she continued, and Harry held his breath, "there's something I need to talk with you about."

Harry sat up in his seat, his feet just reaching the floor so that he could run if necessary. Molly seemed to notice something had changed in her newest charge however, because she looked concerned for a moment before her expression turned to one of understanding.

"Oh, you're not in trouble," she assured him. "It's just...Oh, this is difficult."

"Have I done something wrong?" Harry asked dejectedly, his eyes wide in desperation. "I'm sorry."

"Harry, you've done nothing wrong," Molly told him, her tone almost stern. "It's just...there's something you need to know about us, and something we need to know about you."

"What do you need to know?" Harry asked wearily, his expression untrusting.

"Last night, you suffered some bad injuries," Molly began, but Harry just shrugged as if it meant nothing. He had been through worse, and a few cuts and bruises _were _nothing in the grand scheme of his life.

Molly noticed the shrug, but she seemed to be steeling herself to say something difficult so she didn't react to it.

"Harry," she continued seriously. "You shouldn't have recovered as quickly as you did, even with the healing I tried to do on you. Has that ever happened before?"

"Erm...well..." Harry began unsurely, having never really thought about it before. "I suppose I've always healed pretty quickly when I've needed to. I'm sure that's normal though. It's not like I'm anything special."

"Actually, on the contrary," Molly said with a small smile, as if her suspicions had just been confirmed. "I think it makes you very special indeed."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, his heart racing in anticipation.

"Harry, now this is very important," began Molly gently, her eyes kind but her tone serious. "Has anything strange ever happened around you, perhaps when you were particularly scared or angry? Anything you couldn't explain?"

Slowly, deliberately and with his eyes full of fear, Harry nodded his head.

* * *

**A/N-** So, this has taken a while to be finished, and I'm sorry for that, but I wanted to go back to some of the earlier chapters to clean it up a bit and get rid of some of the mistakes that I missed the first time.

There was one particularly bad error where I wrote in one chapter that Ron didn't have his wand, and then later wrote that they tracked his location by his wand! Oops! Thanks to _Fawkes Flame_ for catching that one.

In fact, I've added a few bits and pieces in all the chapters so it might actually be worth re-reading them. Anyway, thanks for all the support, thanks for reading and I hope you liked it!


	7. Fear and Doubt

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 6: Fear and Doubt**

* * *

Magic.

Shaking his head disbelievingly, Harry scrambled to his feet, oblivious to the sound of his chair clattering to the floor as he pushed back from the kitchen table, fear palpable in his stance.

His shoulder pulled painfully, but he swung around away from the worried looks Mrs Weasley had been sending in his direction, his eyes closed tightly. Vaguely, he could hear someone speaking to him, but even this didn't completely register after what Mrs Weasley had just revealed, and the words seemed as if they were coming from far away.

She was wrong; she must be. How could she mock him like this?

He couldn't be a wizard.

Anger began to rise up within him, pushing down any doubts that sat at the back of his mind. If he could really do magic, did she honestly really think that he would have spent the last few years of his life barely surviving? As a wizard, he could have simply made some food appear out of thin air when he was hungry. He wouldn't be starving, barely surviving from day to day as he had spent so much of his life.

He'd spent his life before the streets being clouted by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if he was really a wizard, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock him in his cupboard?

If he was magical, why hadn't he ever made Uncle Vernon simply disappear...?

"No!" Harry shouted, shaking his head violently as he tried to suppress the painful memories he had tried so hard to forget. They were messing with him, Ron and his mum. They were making fun of him, they must be.

Because it couldn't be true.

_There was no such thing as magic._

As his eyes snapped open, Harry turned to face Mrs Weasley, absently noting her widened eyes and pale face. His mind was suddenly blissfully blank, as if someone had simply muted his thoughts. In fact, there was only one thought on his mind now.

"You're wrong," he told her desperately, his tone much calmer now, although his pale, sweating face gave his true emotions away, and his eyes failed to hide his hurt and anger. "I'm...I'm sorry. I have to go..."

Before either Molly or Ron could react, Harry flew out of the kitchen door and into the garden, his eyes squinting slightly as the light hit him. Clouds loomed overhead, though, and Harry sensed the beginnings of a storm coming. He would have to find somewhere to hide, somewhere inside. Soon.

Blinking quickly, Harry assessed his surroundings, his disbelief mounting by the second.

He wasn't in London any more.

Fields surrounded the lone house, and as he gazed up at the place where he had just escaped from, his disbelief grew to epic proportions. The house, if you could call it that, looked as if it shouldn't even have been standing. Harry had seen pictures of the famous Leaning Tower of Pisa in Italy, but even with his blurred vision, Harry could tell that this feat was even more impressive. There were extensions added onto the original walls that looked as if they were being held on by...

_No, _Harry told himself desperately. _There is no such thing as magic._

Shaking himself as he clung desperately to that belief, Harry turned from the house and began to run down the only path he could see; an old rough track. He hoped desperately that it led to a town, or a city. Anywhere that he could disappear. Anywhere he could become lost.

Hit feet stung against the gravel, but he ran on undeterred down the track. He had left his shoes at the old abandoned pub, but he didn't mind as much as most people would. In fact, when on the run, he would actually be better off without them.

It was one of the reasons he had risked leaving them behind when he had gone to try and help Ron. The trainers he had been wearing recently had been taken from a charity box at a local church, and not only were they in terrible condition, but they were also far too big for him, and felt loose and clunky on his feet. He would be better off without, and definitely quicker.

Spinning round the corner, his feet skidding on the gravel, Harry raised his uninjured arm and swiped angrily at the tears that were falling down his face uninhibited.

This is why he couldn't afford to let his guard down.

He had thought that they were a kind family. He had thought that he had found his first true friend in Ron. He had thought that they had truly wished to help him.

And all this time, they had been stringing him along, all one big joke.

Because if there was one thing he knew, it was that there was nothing special about him.

Rain began to fall heavily, and Harry shivered slightly as the clothes he had been given began to soak completely through to the skin. Searching the area quickly, as his feet splashed through the newly forming puddles on the rough path, Harry tried to find shelter. Rain was an inconvenience to most people, but to him, it could be disastrous, especially if he couldn't find anywhere indoors to sleep. In fact, the last time that he had slept outdoors during a deluge, he had become so sick in the aftermath that he had nearly died...

But even so, it was a risk he had to take now.

He couldn't go back to Ron's house; it was stupid of him to stay there in the first place. He was better off alone, so that no one could hurt him with fairytales that wouldn't come true.

His life was not meant to have a fairytale ending.

As a young child Harry had actually dreamed of a fairy godmother rescuing him from his life at the Dursleys. But years had passed and Harry had grown up now. Saviours weren't meant to save people like him. He had accepted that a long time ago.

He had allowed himself to forget that in the last few hours, and he cursed himself as he dove under the protection of a tree at the end of the road, pausing momentarily to catch his breath. One kind word and it was as if all his experiences of the last two years meant nothing.

_Stupid idiot,_ Harry thought, chastising himself angrily. _You know better than to let your guard down like that._

He had been fooled into thinking that Ron and his mum might actually...care about him, when all along they were messing him around. Like some sick joke.

He was angry, yes, but it was mostly directed at himself. They were sick - or insane, he reminded himself - but it was he who had the bigger problem.

Strange things _had _happened around Harry, and as much as he wanted to call it coincidence, he had never been truly able to explain why they had happened with so much consistency.

In all honesty that was why Harry was running. His mind was in turmoil, not because of the anger he felt towards the Weasleys, nor because of the disbelief he felt at the revelation, but because he was scared.

He was terrified that magic _was_ real, and that he _was _a wizard, and that the struggle that he had been through to even be alive today could have been avoided.

He was terrified by the idea that he could have saved himself.

Harry let out a primal scream, as thunder rang out above him, his fists clenched painfully by his side, as he sat on the sodden grass, emotion almost overwhelming him. _Stupid, stupid, stupid..._

"Harry?"

Harry's sprung to his feet, turning to face the voice, poised and ready to run if necessary. He was out of breath still, and the rain had made his clothes heavy on his back, but he knew that he would still be fast.

"Harry?" the voice asked again, this time with a bit more fear added to the tone. Vaguely, Harry wondered what he was scared of. Rising his eyes to meet those of Ron, who was stood on the dirt path, unprotected as the rain lashed against his body, Harry was struck by how relieved Ron looked to have found him.

Ron was unmoving though, and seemed oblivious to the weather at all. In fact, all his attention was focused on Harry.

"What do you want?" Harry snapped, only feeling vaguely guilty when Ron flinched at the tone. He looked miserable and pathetic, his red hair plastered to his face as drop after drop of water fell from his chin.

"Why did you run off?" Ron asked, stepping closer to Harry as he too took shelter under the trees that stood at the side of the road.

"Just leave me alone!" Harry cried as he tried to push past Ron. Ron was bigger though, and much stronger than Harry, who was weak through long term malnourishment, as well as the injuries he still felt from the fight.

"Why?" Ron asked again, and Harry didn't fail to notice the brief flicker of hurt that crossed the redhead's face.

"You've had your fun now!" Harry yelled, his voice muffled against the sound of the heavily falling rain. "The poor little street boy almost thought you might care, but don't worry, you can go back to your stupid lives now!"

"Harry," Ron said desperately, his arms almost wrapped around the struggling boy now. "We do care!"

"If you cared, why would you spout all that rubbish about magic?" Harry snapped. "Was it some sort of twisted game to you? Let's see how much we can get him to believe? Well, I'm not falling for it! Magic...doesn't...exist."

Harry yanked himself free and tried to run, but he was off balance. He fell heavily to the floor, crying out as his shoulder twisted painfully.

"Harry, are you okay?"

Harry looked up, and was surprised to see only concern on Ron's face.

"Why would you care?" Harry asked bitterly, as he clenched against the pain. "You've just been lying to me the entire time!"

"I'm not lying, Harry, neither is my mum," Ron said desperately. "I know magic is real. I'm a wizard too! I can prove it! Watch..."

Ron pulled a small wooden stick out of his pocket and closed his eyes. After a moment or two, Harry felt his anger rising again in his chest, but was struck dumb by what was happening to the rock that Ron was currently pointing the stick at.

It was changing shape.

Where once sat a rock, now sat an ornate tea set, one that vaguely reminded Harry of one his Aunt Petunia used to own.

Shock reigned over Harry, and for a moment, he couldn't speak. He couldn't believe what he had seen. But there was no coincidence this time. Ron hadn't got lucky. He had made it happen, with that weird stick of his.

Magic.

Harry shook his head desperately as he turned his face away from Ron. "I'm not a...a wizard. Even if m-...even if _it_ was real, I can't be a wizard. I'm just Harry..."

"Why is it so hard to believe?" Ron continued bravely. "Why, when I've shown you what I can do, what you can do too. You can do magic. You heard what my mum said, about the strange things that have happened to you. You must be magical, there's no other explanation! Why can't you see that -?"

"Because I could have saved myself!" Harry yelled, his voice breaking with pent up emotion.

Ron was stunned into silence, and chose the moment to join Harry on the floor, sitting heavily on the wet surface as Harry struggled to control his breathing.

"Do you think I like living like this!? Harry continued, his breathing heavy, oblivious to Ron's state of shock as he continued to talk. "Do you think I want to live on the streets?! I HAVE NO CHOICE! If I was a wizard, I would have been able to save myself!"

"Harry, mate," Ron said slowly, his eyes wide in realisation. "Magic doesn't work like that."

"Stop saying that word!" Harry shouted on reflex.

"Why?" Ron said as he stared into Harry's angry eyes. Ron held the gaze, his expression firm and unmoving.

_Because Uncle Vernon had always forbidden it._

"Because..." Harry began, but he trailed off. He lowered his gaze to the grass he was sitting on; he might have been wrong about Ron and his mum, but it didn't mean he was ready to spill his life story.

"Are you scared of it?" Ron asked, but his tone wasn't cruel. In fact, he seemed apologetic if anything. "Are you scared of a simple word?"

Harry closed his eyes, almost as if he was trying to pretend that he was somewhere else. Ron carried on regardless though.

"Magic," Ron said, ignoring the flinch it caused in Harry. "Magic, magic, MAGIC!"

Harry stilled, his eyes shut tight as if he was trying to block out Ron's presence completely.

"It isn't something to be scared of, I promise," Ron said softly, as he placed a hand gently onto Harry's shoulder. Ron let out a huge sigh of relief when Harry didn't immediately shrug it off. "Magic is wonderful and amazing and jaw dropping, but it isn't perfect. People still die in our world. We still have disease, war, famine..."

Harry looked up, tears leaking from his eyes, as emotion escaped from every pore of his body. His mind was telling him that it was rubbish, that the redhead was still stringing him along, but something in his heart was telling him that Ron wasn't lying.

"Magic can't fix everything," Ron continued gently. "It's like my mum always says; spells and potions can get you out of a spot, but it's your brain that'll save you more often than not."

Harry's gaze rose to meet that of Ron's, and the dark haired, skinny boy had to take a deep breath at what he saw. The eyes of the boy in front of him were so kind, so understanding, and honestly, Harry knew he had been wrong. They weren't making fun of him.

He hadn't had a lot of reasons to trust anyone in the last few years, but something about Ron, something in his eyes, told Harry that the redhead boy was different.

Harry, although it went against all his instincts, knew he could trust Ron.

"Are you..." Harry began, gulping loudly as his thoughts and feelings battled each other within him. Harry pushed down the vulnerability he felt, and held Ron's gaze. "Are you really...a wizard?"

Relief was palpable in Ron's expression.

"Yeah, I am," Ron said with a smile. "Well, I'm not fully trained yet. I still go to school."

"School?" Harry asked quietly, shock clear in his tone. "Magic school? Do you think...well, do you think I could go there? Or is it private or something?"

School had been something he had had to sacrifice in the last few years, but honestly, being allowed to go to a magic school...it was something he had only dreamt about in his most private moments.

"You must be magical, so I don't see why not?" Ron answered with a small smile at Harry's excitement. It was as if a different boy was sat next to him. There was still a wariness there, and he knew Harry wasn't saying everything he was thinking, but he had accepted magic and that was a huge step forward. Maybe he hadn't lost his new friend after all.

"But what about money?" Harry asked, his cheeks reddening slightly. "I don't exactly have a lot of savings..."

"Erm, well I'm not sure," began Ron unsurely, as he dragged himself off the ground, "but I think they have some sort of scholarship thing. Dumbledore's sure to let you in though. I heard he let a Werewolf go to the school once."

"Werewolf..." Harry began, shock evident in his every movement. He was moving almost on auto-pilot as he shakily pulled himself off the ground. As he stood there awkwardly, he couldn't prevent a shiver from wracking his body, a fact that Ron apparently did not miss.

"Hey, erm, how about I tell you more about it at our house?" Ron suggested, looking towards Harry with no small amount of concern. "This rain doesn't look like it's going to stop any time soon."

Harry stilled warily, but eventually his bravery won out over his survival instincts. He could trust Ron, he knew, but this was all a bit much to take. In fact, it had barely sunk in.

He was a wizard.

Magic was real.

"O-okay," Harry answered uneasily, and he set off immediately lest he change his mind. Ron caught up with him quickly, and they sped up as they dashed through the rain.

In no time at all, Harry and Ron burst through the kitchen door, water spraying everywhere as they shook their hair out of their eyes.

"Harry, dear," Molly said desperately. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't think...I'm sorry I scared you –"

"Erm, Mrs Weasley," Harry interrupted unsurely, hugging his arms tightly around his chest. "I'm sorry I ran off. It was a surprise...I panicked, I suppose, and I thought...well, it doesn't matter..."

Harry looked up and met concerned brown eyes. She was smiling at him, clearly relieved that he had come back, and once again Harry chastised himself for thinking badly of them. He was just so unused to the company of other people, and was just so shocked at what they had told him, that he had panicked.

He had been scared.

"Anyway, I'm sorry..." Harry finished lamely. Had he ruined everything with his stupid reaction? What must they think of him?

"Oh, don't be silly dear," she said kindly, as she moved over to pull an unresisting Harry gently into one of the kitchen chairs. "It's my fault."

Harry nodded absently, and shivered, barely able to prevent a groan as it pulled at his shoulder.

"Here, let me," she said unsurely, clearly wary of his reaction, but Harry was too emotionally drained to protest as she raised her stick – wand – in his direction. Too much had happened in the last few minutes; it felt as if his whole life had changed.

Even though he felt no different physically, it felt as if something within him had changed, as if he had unlocked something. He had an explanation now; he had a reason for everything that had happened in his life that had seemed too strange to be true.

He wasn't a freak.

Dragged from his thoughts, Harry absently noted that the shivers were receding as warmth spread through his body as quickly as if he had just been placed next to a warm fire. His hair, clothes and body was bone dry in seconds, and he had to fight the urge to raise a hand to feel the effects himself.

"Is that better, Harry dear?" she asked quietly, clearly expecting him to react much in the way he had earlier when she had revealed her suspicions.

Instead though, shocking both Ron and his mother, Harry smiled, a small, but warm and true smile.

"Yeah," Harry answered. "It's much better."

Harry's smile grew wider, making him look much more his age, much more like the child he still was.

Magic.

* * *

**A/N-** Thank you so much for all the reviews and all the kind words that people have taken the time out to give me! I appreciate it so much, and it's basically the reason this chapter has been written and posted so quickly. Anyway, I hope you like it! Thanks for reading!


	8. The Boy Who Lived

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 7: The Boy Who Lived**

* * *

Harry was quiet as he followed Ron up to his room, realising, as Ron gave Harry a brief tour of the house, that the room he had woken up in this morning was in fact the redhead's bedroom.

_Had it only been this morning? _Harry thought to himself disbelievingly, as he pushed down the guilt he felt at forcing, albeit not on purpose, Ron to sleep on the couch, instead of in his own bed. Briefly, Harry wondered where he would be staying tonight. The house was cosy but cramped, and there was obviously a reason that Ron had slept on the couch last night; did the Weasleys even have enough room for him?

His doubts and questions were answered when Ron gestured Harry to enter the room, his entire attitude nervous. Vaguely, Harry wondered what Ron was so nervous about, but that too was answered when Harry noticed the camp bed that had been squeezed into the tight room, a bed that had not been there when he had left the room this morning.

"Is that alright?" Ron asked unsurely, clearly trying not to assume anything about how his new friend was feeling.

Harry could only nod in reply, his throat partly choked up as he tried to contain the emotions that the appearance of the bed had stirred up.

_His _bed. A bed made up especially for him. Even when he had lived at the Dursleys, he had never had a real bed, and it had obviously been something he had missed out on once he had run away to live on the streets. To be offered one now, meant more to Harry than Ron and his family probably realised.

Oblivious to Harry's inner emotional battle, Ron seemed to visibly relax at acceptance, and they walked in silence into the brightly coloured room. Harry had to blink rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the orange light that hit him, and he forced himself to take a deep breath.

Harry's head swam dangerously as he tried desperately to contain the knowledge that had been unloaded onto him in the last hour. To steady himself he took a seat on the edge of the camp bed, closing his eyes as he did so. So much had happened in the last few hours, it was as if his whole life had changed.

There was a different whole world. An entire _magical _world.

When he had been first told of magic, nothing he had ever imagined came even close to the reality. A hidden world, full of wonder, magic, excitement, existed separate to the one that Harry had grown up in. It was amazing, but completely overwhelming at the same time. In fact, really, it hadn't quite sunk in yet, and Harry doubted that his current state would change any time soon.

Ron sent his new friend a concerned look, not unnoticed by Harry, but thankfully he seemed to refrain from saying anything. The tension grew uncomfortable, though, and Ron cleared his throat before speaking, trying desperately to inject some cheerfulness in his voice.

"So," began uncertainly as Harry looked around his room with undisguised curiosity, desperate to find a distraction from his whirring mind. "What do you like to do for fun?"

Harry, who had been lost in his thoughts and his explorations of the room, turned to face the red head, confusion clear on his face. Fun was a strange thing for Harry, and in all honesty, he wasn't exactly sure what it was.

"What do you mean?" he asked Ron, his voice quiet as if it were barely a whisper. Distractively, he turned to look at a poster on the wall that depicted a man dress in a strange orange dress, riding around in the air on a broom. And it was moving. When once this might have frightened Harry enough to make him want to leave, now he found himself moving closer, his eyes wide in curiosity.

"Fun," Ron emphasised, pulling Harry's attention away from the obvious display of magic. "You know, what do you like to do? What do you enjoy?"

"Erm, dunno really," Harry replied with a frown. "I've never really have much room in my head for fun. I guess I like to read..."

"Bloody hell," Ron moaned, as he sat on his own bed. "You're a bookworm!"

"Well...I'm not really...sorry," Harry said, backtracking quickly and with panic as if he had said something completely wrong, misreading Ron's reaction completely. "Never mind."

His face reddened and his eyes lowered to his feet. Flashbacks flew through his mind, memories of teasing, bullying and humiliation; staples of his childhood.

He hated this.

He was constantly on alert, even now, worried that he would say the wrong thing and ruin everything. The worst thing was, Harry didn't know what the wrong thing was, and that scared him really. He had literally no experience of friends, of people his own age- or any age for that matter – being kind to him. Because of that, though, he felt constantly worried that he would do the wrong thing and end up back on the streets, alone once again.

He wasn't sure he could handle it anymore. With everything that had happened in the last few hours, Harry felt like a different person. He didn't know if he could even _be _the old Harry again. His instincts would stay with him forever, but if he ended back on the streets now, he didn't know if he had it in him to care if he survived or not after experiencing life as if should be.

"No...I mean, it's not a bad thing," Ron assured quickly, having realised that he had upset his friend with his reaction. "It's just...my best friend Hermione...she always has her head in a book. She ends up dragging me to the library too, and it gets a little boring, I suppose."

"I...I like it," Harry admitted quietly, relaxing slightly and pushing his doubts away for the moment. "It's hard though...I lost my glasses...I need to squint to see the words."

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, and neither boy knew what to say to the other.

"You have a pet rat?" Harry observed nervously, trying desperately to relax with his new friend. He couldn't live like this, constantly on alert; it would be too hard. If he was going to stay here, he would have to try to let his insecurities go, at least partially.

As he looked towards the old, grey rat that looked to be asleep in a rickety cage on an old desk, Harry tried to imagine how Ron had even ended up with the pathetic creature.

Harry had slept in many dark and dismal places; abandoned houses falling apart at the seams, the cold floor of a wet street pavement, dark alleyways, and in most of them he had had to share the shelter with some form of creature, often insects and rodents. Harry had never understood why some people chose to have them as pets.

"Yeah," Ron answered and for some reason he looked glum. "He's not really mine though. Well...he is now, but he used to belong to my brother, Percy. Pathetic isn't he?"

"A little bit," Harry answered quietly. "How many brothers do you have?"

He remembered back to that morning, when he had been creeping along the cramped corridor; he had seen photographs of a large group of redheads, including Ron and his mother, and he assumed they were all related. He hadn't seen anyone else at the house yet, though, so he wondered where they all were.

"Five," Ron replied glumly. "And one sister. I'm the youngest boy. I hate it."

Taken aback by the downward spiral of Ron's mood, Harry shot his new friend a concerned look, but Ron didn't seem to notice, too lost was he in his own thoughts.

"I never get anything new," Ron began, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment. "Everything I have is a hand-me-down. Even Scabbers."

Ron gestured towards the rat and sighed miserably. Ron looked so miserable in fact, that Harry felt the inexplicable desire to try to make him feel better.

"I never had anything new either," Harry said quietly, his expression sympathetic. "When I lived with...well, before I ran away, I always had to wear hand -me-downs. I never got presents for Christmas or Birthdays either..."

Instead of making Ron feel better though, as Harry had intended, his new friend's frown simply grew, this time for a different reason.

"Harry, mate," Ron said, as it dawned on him just how his complaints would sound to the boy they had saved, momentarily at least, from the streets, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything..."

"Don't worry about it," Harry said with a shrug. "It's just...you're lucky, you know. To have all those people who care about you."

"I know," Ron said, ashamed, but he felt the urge to defend himself, even if he wasn't quite sure he deserved it. "It's just...it's hard not to have a lot to your name. I see people at school, like Draco Malfoy, who have everything they ever want, and...well, I get jealous I suppose."

The name of the mysterious Malfoy was spat out with no small amount of disgust, so much so that Harry couldn't help but be curious.

"Draco Malfoy?" he asked, and the scowl on Ron's face said it all really.

"Yeah, he's a right git," Ron said moodily with a scowl. "Bullies everyone. He thinks he owns the school, just because his dad's a governor. I hate him."

"Hates a strong word," Harry said bluntly, and Ron stilled at the words, turning to face the black haired boy with a frown upon his face. Harry's expression, though, gave nothing away.

Behind his mask, Harry's thoughts were whirring.

He knew the true meaning of hate.

Ron was innocent and naive, much more so that Harry was himself. Ron didn't know the true meaning of hate because he had never experienced it. He had had people in his life to protect him against that. Harry was happy for Ron, glad that he had so far missed out on that particular life lesson, but he couldn't prevent the slightest bit of jealously from rising within his chest.

Because Harry had never had that protection. He had been on his own from the moment his parents had died. And hate...

Well, hate had been a big part of his life.

"Mate," Ron began, looking uncomfortable. "I'm sorry about what I said. You know...about being poor. I mean, you've had it much worse than I have – "

"It's fine -" interrupted Harry, but he too was cut off.

"It isn't _fine_!" Ron exclaimed angrily, although it was clear that his ire was meant solely for himself. "You're not _fine! _I forget how lucky I am sometimes. I love my family, I really do. That's what's really important. I just wanted to say...I mean...I know it's tough, and we don't have a lot of money, but then...you've reminded me...well, we don't need money when we've got each other. And you've got us, I promise."

The declaration was awkward but the emotion in Ron's voice was so sincere, so clear to Harry that he really didn't know how to reply. His throat tightened uncomfortably and tears prickled at his eyes, but he refused to let the emotion out. He didn't want Ron to think he was weak; a cry-baby who can't even handle a few nice words without bursting into tears.

Ron, however, was not as unobservant as Harry had hoped he would be.

"Harry, mate?" Ron began quietly, concern etched across his face as he looked towards his new friend. "Are you okay? You know, this magic thing...I reckon it's a lot to take in?"

"Dunno, really," muttered Harry as he sat down on the edge of Ron's bed, running a shaky hand through his messy hair. "I mean...I'm happy, I guess. I always thought...well, I always thought the strange things that happened to me...were...made me a freak."

He blushed slightly and kept his gaze firmly fixed on the floor, his hand absently pulling at a loose thread on the homemade blanket on Ron's bed.

"And now," Harry continued, as if in a daze, interrupting any protests that Ron had been preparing to make, "now you tell me that there are others out there – others like me. That those strange things were normal..."

Harry trailed off, his gaze rising to meet that of his new friend.

"I've never been normal before," Harry admitted. "I mean...even before the streets I was always a fr-"

"You're not a freak," Ron interrupted gently, correctly guessing that Harry was going to call himself that.

Harry kept his gaze firmly down, but he gasped at the intense emotion that he could hear escaping from his redhead's voice.

"Was...was that why you ran away?" Ron asked tentatively, hoping desperately that Harry wouldn't get upset at the questions. He was curious, in a morbid sort of way, about Harry, and the life he had led. He had obviously not been treated kindly, and although he was certain he didn't want to know about the details, Ron couldn't help but be curious as to the horrors that his new friend had faced, whilst he himself had been tucked up safely at home with his loving family.

Harry, though, found that he didn't want to answer. He had come far in the last few hours, but he wasn't quite there yet.

Harry felt exposed here. He had spent the last few years running away from any human contact, good or bad, so why had this family undone him so easily in such a short space of time. Harry was lost, more so than he had ever been on the streets. There, his life had been simple, if not easy. Survive, find food, beg, avoid the gangs, live through a beating, go to sleep, start again. Now, here, there were so many more things to consider. It was almost like being back at the Dursleys – he wasn't invisible anymore, not like he had been on the streets, and that scared him. Terrified him really.

"What...What do you like doing for fun?" Harry choked out, blatantly changing the subject as he squashed down the memories that Ron's question had brought up.

"Oh," Ron replied, his face dropping as he fought the urge to offer comfort that he knew would not be accepted by the black haired boy. "Erm...well, I like to play chess. I'm pretty good as well."

"Chess," Harry nodded, gratefully latching onto the new conversation. "I've never played chess. Is it hard?"

"I can teach you, if you like?" Ron offered tentatively, relieved that Harry wasn't about to run again in order to avoid uncomfortable questions.

"Erm, okay," Harry agreed unsurely, and after setting up the board on the edge of Harry's new bed, letting difficult conversations go for the moment, teach him Ron did.

* * *

Even a complete amateur like Harry could tell that Ron was much better than 'pretty good'. In fact, Harry suspected that in their first game, Ron could've beaten him in ten seconds had he wanted to.

The rules to the game seemed fairly simple, but the various strategies that could be employed made chess a lot more complicated. Harry found, to his surprise, that he wasn't completely rubbish at the game, and that it was quite enjoyable, even despite the fact that he was clearly no match for the redhead.

"You're not bad," Ron said, after his fifth straight victory in barely an hour. "You were quite Slytherin in some places actually."

This was said in a teasing manner, with Ron grinning towards his new friend as he put the pieces away, but Harry didn't quite understand the reference.

"Slytherin?" he asked, once he had realised that Ron wasn't to make him feel bad.

"Yeah," Ron explained. "It's a house at Hogwarts."

At Harry's confused expression, Ron realised with a start that there was so much that his friend still didn't know. Looking apologetically towards the black haired boy, Ron moved quickly to explain a bit more.

"There are four Houses at Hogwarts," Ron began. "Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. I'm a Gryffindor."

Ron puffed his chest out slightly at this announcement, clearly proud, but Harry, who obviously didn't know much about the Houses, couldn't work out why that would be the case. Ron, having noticed Harry's further confusion, felt another strike of realisation.

"It's a family tradition you see," Ron explained, and Harry nodded in understanding. "Although Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff wouldn't be _too_ bad."

"And Slytherin?" asked Harry, nervous for some reason he couldn't quite understand.

"There wasn't a Witch or Wizard who went bad, who wasn't in Slytherin," Ron said ominously. "I heard He Who Must Not Be Named was one."

Harry felt a thrill of fear rise up in him from some inexplicable place. The intensely serious look on Ron's face did nothing to relax him.

"He Who Must Not Be Named?" Harry asked, his voice almost a whisper.

"He was a Dark Wizard," Ron explained, his voice dropping. "They say he was the most evil Wizard who had ever lived. There was a war a few years ago, and he was at the centre of it."

"A war?" Harry commented quietly. He didn't ask why Ron had yet to say the name of said Dark Wizard. The look of fear on his face was explanation enough for now. "What happened?"

"He was defeated," Ron said with a shrug. "He tried to track down this family, you see. He'd been building his army for years, and dad told me that he reckons that You-Know-Who was trying to recruit the two parents. Potter, their name was, if I remember right."

Harry started violently at the mention of the name, his chest feeling tighter and tighter as anticipation grew within him.

"What happened to them?" Harry prompted, his voice a mere whisper as he felt a cold sweat break out on his brow. His heart was beating loudly in his chest, so much so that he was surprised Ron couldn't hear it.

"They refused to join him so he killed them," Ron said sadly, oblivious to the look of intense pain that flitted across Harry's face. "The thing is, there was a kid there too. A little boy. No one knows why he did it. Maybe he just liked killing by that point, but You-know-Who tried to kill the child."

"He tried to kill the boy," Harry repeated, his face the picture of shock.

"Yeah, I know, horrible isn't it?" Ron said, misinterpreting Harry's horror at the story. "He couldn't do it though. When he tried to kill that little boy, something in his powers broke. Something about that little boy stumped him that night. One little boy did what hundreds of fully trained Wizards couldn't do. He defeated the most Evil Wizard of all time, and only came out of the fight with a scar. A small lightening bolt scar on his head, can you believe that?"

"Ron," Harry said, talking as if on autopilot. "What was the boy's name?"

"The boy's name?" Ron said with a frown. "His name was Harry. Harry Potter; the Boy Who Lived. Why?"

With painstaking slowness, Harry lifted a shaking hand to his head and slowly pulled back his messy black fringe to reveal a scar that he had had for as long as he could remember.

Ron blinked, his mouth forming a perfect 'O' shape as he slowly moved his gaze to the lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead.

"Bloody hell."

* * *

**A/N-** Well, hello dear readers. First I must apologise, because this is perhaps an unforgivably late update. In my defence though, this was a ridiculously difficult chapter to write. There was an awful lot of dialogue that I wanted to include, and it didn't help that I knew exactly how I wanted to end it. It made it really difficult for me to work out how to get there, if I'm honest.

I should probably apologise for this cliff-hanger too. Hopefully, the next chapter won't be too far away, so I won't be keeping you in suspense too long...

Oh, and I wonder if anyone can guess the significance of Scabbers in this scene, with regards what may or may not be coming up later in the story.

Anyway, I hope you like it, and that you'll grace me with a review, letting me know your thoughts and/or suggestions for future chapters. You have no idea how much your feedback means to me, and how much it motivates me to write better quality chapters. Thanks for reading!


	9. Time and Space

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 8: Time and Space**

* * *

If Harry had to describe how he felt as he watched the shock-filled eyes of his friend take in the scar that he had gotten the night he had lost his parents- not in a car crash like he had always been told, but in cold blooded murder- then he could have used one word.

Numb.

Both boys were silent for a long time, both lost in their own thoughts as the revelation slowly sunk into their stunned brains. Harry was unmoving, shocked as he was, his hand still resting on his hair. Ron's mouth remained open, his eyes widening as the seconds past, unable to tear his eyes away from the mark on Harry's forehead.

Scabbers, the rat, squeaked loudly, apparently upset by the change in mood in the room, but Ron just pulled the blanket from his bed and unceremoniously dumped it over the rat cage, muffling the noise, paying the distressed animal no further attention, and never once taking his eyes of his friend's forehead.

"My name... My _full_ name is Harry James...Potter," Harry said, eventually breaking the uncomfortable silence, his face paling rapidly as his mind flew around in a daze. This was too much for him to handle, especially on top of everything else.

It couldn't be true. He wasn't the boy in the story. It must mean someone else. It couldn't mean him.

He was nothing special.

"You're Harry Potter," Ron repeated, his mouth still open in shock. The redhead didn't seem to be dealing any better with the news than Harry was. He dragged his eyes away from Harry's scar, lowering his gaze to meet the wide, fearful eyes of the black-haired boy.

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry confirmed, nodding dazedly, meeting Ron's gaze with difficulty as he absently ran his hand through his messy hair.

"Bloody hell," repeated Ron, and Harry couldn't disagree with the sentiments. How the hell was he supposed to handle this?

"I mean," began Harry, unsurely, his hand dropping limply back to his side causing his scar to become covered by his unruly hair once again, "It...it might not be me. There must be hundreds of Potter's in Britain."

Ron shook his head, sighing deeply as he tried to get hold of his shock and think clearly. "Not in the Wizarding World. The Potter's are a really old Wizarding family. You...you must be the last of the line."

"But wouldn't I know?" Harry said, somewhat desperately ignoring the uncomfortable feeling that was rising in his chest, warning him that Ron's words made sense. He had, after all, never met another family member from his dad's side. Or his mum's for that matter. "I mean...I lived...I lived with my Aunt and Uncle. If I was some sort of saviour, wouldn't I know?"

He was clutching at straws now, and he knew it. The Dursleys had hated any talk about Harry's side of the family, and to this day, he still didn't know his parents' names, nor even what they looked like.

He knew nothing about them. For all he knew, it could be true.

"We know you're magical," Ron pointed out, having noticed that Harry was lost in his thoughts. It was possible that he had guessed the direction Harry's mind had taken him, however, because his next words seemed to voice all of Harry's doubts. "You're the right age to be him. And that scar..."

"What do you know about your parents?" Ron asked gently as his shock dissipated slightly, realising that no matter how much the shock of the revelation had affected him, it was ten times worse for his friend. The poor boy looked shell-shocked, and the phrase 'deer caught in the headlights' had never been more aptly relevant.

"My relatives told me they died in a car crash..." Harry answered quietly. His face was pale, and he was talking as if from a faraway place, forcing his eyes closed as he tried to shut out the world; as he tried to shut out the truth.

"Would they have lied to you?" Ron asked with a frown, his own face pale as he anxiously wrung his hands together, the half-packed chess set beside him forgotten now. Harry had so far refused to talk about his life before the streets, and this was the first conversation they had had in which he had mentioned having any relatives at all.

"Let's just say...it doesn't surprise me..." Harry admitted with difficulty, his eyes still tightly closed as he fought against the anger that he felt towards his relatives.

A sudden thought hit Ron, as a memory rose unbidden to the forefront of his mind. His dad had talked about Harry Potter; he had been involved in the search after he had gone missing.

"You lived with your aunt and uncle?" he asked quickly, his heart rate increasing.

"Y-Yeah," Harry answered confused for the moment. He had admitted that a minute ago, so where was Ron going with this?

"You ran away when you were ten, didn't you?" Ron said tentatively. "Because they did bad things to you."

"What...but...how do you know?" Harry asked in shock, his eyes snapping over to meet Ron's, wide and fearful, barely able to control his own rapidly beating heart.

Ron didn't know much really, but his dad had mentioned one night during dinner, that he had joined the search for an abused Boy Who Lived. Ron had only been eleven at the time, more worried about going to Hogwarts than anything else, but the exhaustion and regret that he had seen on his dad's face the night he had announced that their saviour had gone missing, was hard for the redhead to forget.

"There was a big investigation when you left," Ron answered softly, no longer deeming it necessary to question whether or not Harry really was in fact the missing Boy Who Lived. "I told you that Harry Potter was important in our world. My dad works at the Ministry of Magic, but he was always fairly close to Dumbledore. He helped to look for you. A lot of people did."

Ron looked seriously towards his new friend, fear clear in the body language of the black-haired boy. "It's you. The Boy Who Lived, the one who's been missing all this time; it's you."

Harry's stomach churned dangerously, and he began to wish that he had eaten less at breakfast. This was too much. Harry took a deep breath, desperate to calm his heavily beating heart. He felt sick. It was true; with a dawning, fearful realisation, he knew it was true. The scar itself was proof.

He was the boy from the story.

"The people- the one's who looked for me...they didn't find me," Harry whispered, but he had not spoken quietly enough. All those years he had believed he was all alone, and all that time there had been a whole world looking for him.

"No, they didn't," Ron replied sadly, unable to tear his eyes away from the anguish that crossed Harry's face.

Providing Ron hadn't made the story up, and Harry's instincts told him that Ron had told him the truth, then _he_ was the bloody Boy Who Lived. His parents hadn't been killed in a car crash, like he had been told his entire life, but instead they had been murdered by a Wizard- a bloody Dark, evil Wizard. Said evil Wizard had tried to kill him as well, and that was how he had gotten the scar- not from a piece of shrapnel in the car crash.

"I'm going to be sick," Harry muttered, rapidly bringing his hand to his mouth, desperate to prevent the burning sensation in his throat from reaching his mouth.

"Oh... erm..." panicked Ron, his eyes wide. "Here."

He shoved an empty waste bin into Harry's shaking hands, and Harry grabbed it gratefully, retching desperately into the empty container as his stomach finally protested, expelling all the food he had eaten in the last twenty four hours, meagre as that was. Pain clenched at his stomach, and Harry had to grip the small bin with extra force to prevent it from slipping out of his sweaty grasp.

The retching continued against Harry's will, and he could vaguely feel a hand rest on his shoulder, and a voice uttering nonsensical, but comforting things. Harry could barely acknowledge it though, so lost was he in his miserable, desperate, hateful thoughts.

Harry Potter, the hero.

The thought made him feel even sicker, and his stomach ached as he tried desperately to suppress the retching that he felt building up again. Gripping the basket tightly, his gaze still lowered to the floor, Harry tried desperately to calm his whirring thoughts long enough to relax the spasms.

Harry had been called a lot of different names in his life, but never had one fit him so badly as this one. He was no hero. He was nothing. Nothing to the people in his world, and nothing to the people in this magical one. He couldn't handle the change that this revelation would undoubtedly bring.

He couldn't be the hero they wanted him to be. What would happen when they worked that out?

"You can't tell anyone," Harry said shakily, shoving the basket away from himself in anger, his face pale and his eyes glinting strangely as he met those of Ron's in an expression of such seriousness that Ron almost gasped aloud.

"But, Harry mate," began Ron, his tone pleading, concern for his friend emanating from every pore in his body. There was no pity there, Harry noted. "They've been looking for you. People...they've been searching for years..."

"Well they can bloody well carry on searching for all I care, because I am not going to be that person! I'm not the Boy Who Lived. I'm no hero...I'm just Harry," Harry said harshly, although he immediately regretted snapping at his friend.

It wasn't Ron's fault that this had happened. It wasn't Ron's fault that he could never be normal.

For one blissful moment, he had actually believed that he could fit in, in this new, wonderful, magical world. That he would no longer be the weird one, the one that everyone pointed to in the street. That he could be normal.

Anger gripped at his chest as he cursed his stupid life. He would never be normal, especially not now.

"Sorry. It's just...you don't know what it's like on the streets," Harry explained, trying desperately to make Ron understand as he wiped at the remnants of sick on his chin, grimacing at the feeling of rawness that the episode had left in his throat. "I was invisible. When I...when I beg, most people just walk past me as if I'm not even there. People, they look at homeless people like they don't exist. And to them, they don't. After a while...it's hard, and well...you start to think that maybe it's true...maybe you _don't_ exist."

Ron looked sad, but Harry simply clenched his fists and carried on with his story.

"And now you tell me," he continued dully, as realisation started to sink in, "that I'm some sort of celebrity. That people are going to want to know everything about me. That I'll be stared at in the streets by people who I've never even met before. That everyone in your world already knows my name. They know my story, and yet I barely know half of it! It's too much to handle!"

"Harry..." Ron began, but as he stared into the desperate eyes of his friend, he seemed to waver in his conviction. Harry tried one last time, pleading with Ron to help him out.

"I...I need time," Harry begged, and he didn't care how desperate he sounded. "I need to deal with this on my own. Please, Ron. Just don't tell anyone, not yet. I'll tell them soon, I promise, just...now, well I can't. If you tell them, I'll...I'll leave and you'll never find me. I'll disappear again."

"No," Ron exclaimed desperately, panic clear in his eyes. "I mean...don't go. I...I won't tell anyone yet. They need to know eventually, mate, but...I'll keep it quiet until you're ready to tell them."

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, relief palpable in his whole manner. He ran a shaky hand through his sweat soaked hair, once more exposing the scar that had started all this trouble. "I'll...I'll tell them, I promise. I just need...time."

"In time then," Ron nodded reluctantly. "I'll...I'll keep it to myself for now, but you need to promise me something else." Ron's serious face, an expression so unusual on the usually smiling boy, gave Harry pause.

"You can't leave," Ron said seriously, his eyes pleading with the black haired boy. "You can't run away from this. Promise me, Harry?"

Harry swallowed loudly and took a deep breath, but although he wanted to dismiss the promise out of hand, something in Ron's eyes made Harry take the promise seriously.

If Ron was going to keep his secret, at least for the moment, then he would have to keep his word too.

"I promise."

* * *

**A/N-** Okay, so this is a really short chapter, but I have a feeling that the next one is going to be especially long, and this one did finish in a good place (with no evil cliff-hangers!), so I hope you can all forgive me.

Also, I just wanted to say, thank you so much to everyone who read, liked, favourited or reviewed the last chapter! It was so humbling and so encouraging to hear such kind things from so many people, that I just had to get this out there as quickly as possible. The next chapter will be much longer in length I promise you!

As a little reward for all your support, and as an apology for the shortness of this chapter, here's a little teaser for what's coming up soon. Hopefully it's enough for people to stay interested in this story:

Dumbledore makes a visit to the Burrow, suspicions raging through his mind, and Molly gets a little defensive of her newest charge...

Thanks for reading, and the next update shouldn't be too far away!


	10. A Family Matter

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 9: A Family Matter**

* * *

"Ron," Harry began nervously, taking his eyes from the game of strange, moving, Wizard's chess that he was currently losing. They had played the game a lot to pass the morning, before and after Harry's revelation, but he still wasn't quite used to the casual display of magic that the Wizard's chess expressed.

Harry shrugged this thought away and took a deep breath, wringing his hands nervously as he fought to control his emotions with what he was about to ask, his mind already irrevocably distracted from the game. He had been waiting all his life for this moment.

"Yeah, Harry?" replied Ron absently, as he told one of his pawns to take one of Harry's pieces.

"What do you know about my parents?" Harry asked softly, raising his eyes to meet his friend's, trying, likely in vain, to keep the pain out of them.

He hadn't quite managed it though, and looking at the barely concealed desperation in Harry's eyes, the hope warring with sadness, Ron felt a squirming in his gut that had nothing to do with hunger.

"I'm sorry, mate," Ron replied, the regret clear in his expression, abandoning the chess game for the moment. "I don't know much about them. Just what's in the story really."

Harry's face dropped, but he didn't give up. This meant too much to him.

"But you must know something," he begged. "Like...what were their names?"

"You don't know?" Ron asked sadly, but he knew the answer. Careful to keep his expression clear of the anger he felt towards Harry's awful relatives, lest he scare the boy off, Ron steeled himself to reply. He could see how much it meant to Harry.

"James and Lily Potter," Ron replied softly.

Harry closed his eyes, his mouth tracing the words over and over again, as if he was trying to commit them to memory.

He finally had a name to put to the people he had spent most of his life imagining.

When he had been younger, during long, boring hours locked in his cupboard, Harry's favourite way of passing the time had been to day-dream of his parents. He hadn't known what they looked like, though, having never seen pictures of them, so he had simply imagined them to look just like himself, with dark black hair, and bright green eyes.

The one thing he had always had trouble imagining, though, was their names. In his dreams he called them mum and dad, obviously, but something about that wasn't right. It made them less like real people, and more like imaginary parents he had simply dreamt up. It made it harder to believe.

But now...now they had names. Now they were real to him. Not just mum and dad; now they were James and Lily Potter. _Real_ people, who had lived and breathed and who had possibly even loved him, something he could not say about anyone else.

"I'm named after my dad, then," Harry said, a look of sadness warring with wonder on his face. "My middle name, I mean. I always wondered..."

Harry trailed off and Ron didn't know quite how to break the silence that followed. His heart wasn't in this chess game anymore.

"Listen, mate," Ron began as he started to pack up the chess game. "How about I give you a proper tour of the house and garden...you know, take your mind off things. I haven't shown you our garden yet. I mean, it's nothing special, but...well..."

"That'd be nice," Harry said softly, pulling himself, still aching, off the bed, before he followed the redhead out of the room. Walking around, moving, had always taken his mind off his troubles, and his head was swimming so dizzily after the information he had been given in the last hour, that he was desperate for some time for it to sink in.

* * *

As Arthur walked slowly into his home that evening, his hand gripped tightly around the tattered backpack that he was carrying, his thoughts were a tumbling mess.

Before work, Arthur had gone straight to Hogwarts, eager to help his wife find some identity for the boy who had somehow been squeezed into their already full hearts. Arthur had not even met the boy, except when he had been unconscious, and yet he couldn't help but want to take some of the pain away that he knew he must be feeling.

He had been through something terrible in his life, that much was clear, and Arthur wanted to ease that as much as possible, both for the boy's sake and for his wife's, who he could already tell had formed a connection with the boy- Harry, Arthur reminded himself.

When he had arrived at Hogwarts though, intent on receiving Dumbledore's help in the case of the unknown boy, Arthur had been disappointed to find that the Headmaster was not available, and was instead at the Ministry in an important meeting. He had left a message, describing their contact with Harry, and what they needed to know about his background, hoping that the Headmaster would get back to them as soon as possible.

Hoping that Molly was having a bit more luck at home, for he knew she would try to talk to the boy, maybe even find out a bit more about his past where he had failed, Arthur had gone to work, his thoughts less on muggles than they usually were.

His mind, he found, had been elsewhere all day, and by the time it was time for him to go home, Arthur had made up his mind. A quick fire-call home, and he had Molly's blessing for his plan.

First he had gone to visit the Child Protection section of the Ministry, calling in an old favour from a friend to push through the paper work that he wanted, and that he knew Molly wanted too.

Then, without giving it much thought, lest he change his mind, Arthur had returned to the street where they had found Harry and Ron, battered, bruised and bleeding. After exploring the area, for he knew Harry must have been staying fairly close, Arthur had discovered the old pub, and the loose board on one of the windows.

Surreptitiously using a small bit of magic to gain entry, Arthur had quickly realised that the old pub had been Harry's home. His heart had broken when he had taken in the empty wrappers and the clothes left drying on the back of an old chair, likely belonging to Harry. He had moved quickly up the stairs, the darkness of the rooms slightly disconcerting, and had found where Harry had been sleeping; not on a bed, but on the floor, wrapped only, it seemed, in an old jacket.

Anger had clouded his mind at that point, anger on behalf of a boy who should have been saved a long time ago, and he had decided to leave, certain that he could do no good here. On his way out, though, his eyes had caught a glimpse of a bag, shoved into the corner of the room. A quick look inside nearly made his heart break once again, and he had quickly grabbed it before he could change his mind, hoping beyond hope that this bag _did_ belong to Harry, and that it would bring the boy some comfort to have it back.

Now, as he entered the kitchen, breathing deeply as his wife greeted him, he pushed down all the doubts he felt when he thought of Harry, the street boy, the boy who had saved his son. He wanted to help him, a fact that surprised even Arthur since he had never actually met the boy properly, and yet he couldn't deny it. Whether Dumbledore got back to them or not, they would help Harry. The papers in his pocket reassured him of that.

"Did you speak to Albus?" Molly asked him quietly.

"No, I'm afraid he was busy at the Ministry," Arthur replied. "I left a message though. Did you speak with Harry?"

"He's magical," Molly said softly, answering her husband's unspoken question. "There's no doubt about it. Some of the things he's done...well, he must be fairly powerful, despite not having the training."

"And did he take it well?" Arthur asked.

"As well as one can expect, I suppose," replied Molly sadly. "He was upset, angry, scared, and he nearly ran away again, but he's calmed down enough now to consider it, and Ron's been a godsend. I think he's finally starting to trust us."

At the hope brimming in her eyes, Arthur couldn't bring himself to bring her down to reality. Because the truth was, they had a long road to travel before he thought they would get to that stage.

"I hope so, Molly," Arthur said, as they walked together into the living room.

The sight that greeted him was one he had not expected to see.

Harry was sat on the sofa, a big grin on his face as he played chess with Ron, surrounded by the twins and Ginny as well. It seemed as if everyone had ganged up on Ron, and were trying, as a team, to finally take his unbeaten record away from him.

The boy, Harry, looked tense, especially with the close proximity of the twins, but the wariness was to be expected, and at least the fear that Molly had spoken of appeared to have gone, replaced instead with a childish innocence that he had not prepared to register on the black haired boy.

Arthur shared a glance with Molly, who also appeared surprised at the sudden change in the boy. They were both reluctant to interrupt such a clear display of happiness, but unfortunately they had things to discuss. Molly, thankfully, realised this too, and it was she who stepped in.

"Boys, Ginny, your father's home," Molly announced to the room, and the kid's, minus Ron who was too engrossed in the game to care, and Harry whose head had snapped up at the declaration, jumped up to greet him.

"Dad!" Ginny cheered, offering him a big smile. "We're about to beat Ron! Come and watch. Go on Harry..."

But Harry didn't move the piece Ginny had indicated, nor did he even glance in her direction. His eyes were wide unmoving, staring at Arthur with barely disguised fear and mistrust.

The boy was completely and unnaturally still, as if he thought that one small movement would set off a deadly minefield. He was alert, wary and tense, his fists clenched as he fought with some unknown emotion. Was it shock? Fear? Arthur didn't know, and neither, it seemed, did Molly.

Harry looked even paler than he had been last night, when Arthur had carried his limp body into their home, and he was biting his lip nervously. For some reason, Ron looked nervous too, and his ears had gone red almost immediately, a clear sign that he was hiding something.

Before this thought had even registered in Arthur's brain though, the Floo flared unexpectedly, causing pandemonium in the room.

Harry jumped up as soon as the green flames appeared, inadvertently knocking the chess set to the floor as he flew as far away from the fireplace as he could. With his back against the wall, his eyes darted around in fear as a person stepped out of the flames, a person Harry didn't recognise. Arthur did.

It was Professor Dumbledore.

"Albus," Molly greeted, as the Professor dusted off his robes, shooting a concerned glance over to Harry. The boy seemed very pale, but after a few moments the shock seemed to wear off. It helped that Ron had moved over to join his friend, clearly explaining that there was nothing to worry about.

"Did you get my message?" Arthur asked, wondering why Dumbledore was here.

"I did," Dumbledore replied gravely, glancing over to the corner where Ron and Harry now stood. "I must say I was surprised to hear your news. A muggle-born you say?"

"Yes," Molly replied. "Harry, here, has definitely experienced magic, but he has no recollection of ever receiving a Hogwarts letter. Is that possible, Albus?"

"Quite impossible, I'm afraid," Dumbledore replied vaguely. "And he is definitely magical?"

"Yes," Molly answered promptly. "There is no doubt about it."

"Well, that present quite a problem," Dumbledore commented, turning around to face Harry, taking in the scared, frail boy, half-hiding behind his friend.

"What do you mean, Albus?" Arthur asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Well," answered Dumbledore quietly, talking as if there was a frightened animal in the room that he didn't want to spook. "It is a problem because the Hogwarts register is never wrong. And it never misses anyone. It is a problem because there is only one child in the last ten years who has failed to answer his Hogwarts letter, and that child is widely believed to be dead."

The words took a few seconds to sink in, but when they did Arthur's eyes took on a horrified tone as he looked towards the terrified, black-haired boy. Before he could speak though, Ron jumped in.

"It isn't him, Professor!" Ron burst out, as Harry moved slightly further behind his friend with Ron taking on the protector role. "This is just Harry. He isn't who you think!"

"And who might I think he is, Mr Weasley?" Dumbledore asked shrewdly, looking towards Ron from the top of his half-moon spectacles.

Ron, however, seemed to realise his mistake, for he kept his mouth clamped tightly shut, refusing to say another word.

"No matter," Dumbledore replied absently, looking towards Harry. "There is no mistake. I'm afraid, dear child, that you resemble your father too much for me to be mistaken, even without glasses, and your eyes...well, it's as if your mother is staring out at me from beyond the grave."

Harry stepped out from behind Ron, moving as if on auto-pilot upon hearing the news of his parents.

"I should have seen it," breathed Molly. "Your eyes...they are so like Lily's"

"Harry Potter," said Dumbledore softly. "We have been looking for you for a long time."

Harry just shrugged, and the silence which followed was more than uncomfortable; it was almost painful.

"I didn't want to be found," Harry said quietly, breaking the silence with a tentative air.

"I know, child," Dumbledore replied, and it wasn't hard to detect a trace of remorse in his words. "How long have you known who you were in our world?"

"Not long," Harry replied, his eyes lowered to the floor. "Me and Ron worked it out this morning."

"Then you know your story," Dumbledore said sadly. Harry just nodded. "I am so sorry, my boy."

"What are you sorry for?" Harry asked, before adding, "Sir."

"When your parents were killed," Dumbledore began softly, "Our world was in somewhat of a shambles. It was left to me to decide where you should be sent after the fate of your parents. Had I known what Petunia would be like..."

Harry went pale, paler than Arthur believed possible, his skin now almost scarily translucent as he stared at Dumbledore. He clenched and unclenched his fists, the whiteness of the skin stark against his clothes as he gripped at his t-shirt in an attempt to control his growing anger.

"You," Harry ground out, his green eyes flashing angrily as all previous nervousness around the Professor apparently vanished. "You...left me there!"

"I did," Dumbledore nodded sadly, his remorse clear. Harry didn't care though; it was too late for apologies. He had suffered too much because of this man.

"Why?!" Harry asked him angrily. "Why the hell did you think that would be a good idea?"

It didn't matter that he was currently shouting at the Headmaster of the school that he was hoping to attend. It didn't matter that he had lost his temper so completely that he wasn't sure he would ever rein it in. All that matter to Harry, as he glared unrepentantly at Dumbledore, was that he was angry, and he needed someone to blame.

"You left me there!" Harry shouted, when Dumbledore didn't answer, his voice still slightly hoarse from his years alone on the street. "Why?!"

"They were your last living relatives," Dumbledore replied calmly, although it was clear from the expression in his eyes that he was affected by Harry's reaction.

"But they didn't want me," Harry said scathingly. "Anyone could see that!"

"There was no other option," Dumbledore said remorsefully.

"I'm the bloody Boy Who Lived apparently," Harry sneered, his face showing an expression that was far too old for someone his age. "I'm sure there were plenty of options. Are you telling me there was absolutely no one else who was willing to take me in?"

"You would have grown up in the spotlight," Dumbledore replied somewhat desperately. Harry could tell the Headmaster was hiding something, and it just made him more furious at the man. "There is no telling how that would have shaped your life."

"It would have been better than living in a cupboard!" Harry shouted, his voice breaking slightly.

He snapped his eyes shut, desperate to avoid the pitying expressions on the faces of all the Weasleys. He hadn't meant to say that, but his emotions had got the better of him.

"A cupboard..." Dumbledore whispered. Their investigation had turned up many atrocities in the Dursley household, but the fact that a cupboard under the stairs had been Harry's room, had been by far the most shocking.

"You know, for a supposed genius, you're pretty thick," Harry said scathingly, no sympathy in his expression for the remorse Dumbledore was clearly exhibiting. "Why did no one check up on me? It wouldn't have taken much. Two minutes in that house would have been enough to know I wasn't exactly happy!"

"It was a mistake," Dumbledore said, his eyes watering slightly. "A grave mistake. I am not perfect."

"Finally something we agree on," Harry sneered, shooting a glare towards the Headmaster.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I'm so sorry," Dumbledore said desperately. "But you must come to Hogwarts now. We can look after you there. It is not safe for you, even here. It is the main reason I placed you with a blood relative. If I had not acted, you would be defenceless as a child. I was afraid that you would be attacked, even...killed."

"I _WANTED _TO DIE!" Harry yelled angrily, tears leaking from his eyes. "I wouldn't wish what I went through there on my worst enemy! If I'd stayed there much longer, he would have killed me eventually, and I wouldn't have bloody minded! I spent years there, in that _hell-hole_, and not one person in that entire bloody village gave a shit about me. Not my relatives, not my neighbours and not my teachers! NO ONE! I was on my own there!"

Harry took a deep breath, desperate to calm his anger, desperate to regain some control.

"If you had saved me then," Harry continued, much calmer than before, although his hand was shaking slightly. "If you had come to me, like you are now, acting like you care, then I would have done anything for you!"

Dumbledore flinched, but Harry felt no remorse, no regret, at causing this man such intense pain now. Dumbledore barely knew a fraction of what he had been through in his life; this brief moment of regret now wouldn't take away all of the pain he had suffered because of his actions all those years ago.

"But you didn't...and I had to save myself!" Harry continued unrelentingly. "You're too bloody late Dumbledore. If you want my respect now, you'll bloody well have to earn it! And just so you know, I'm not the type to give second chances easily, not anymore! Not after everything that I've been through."

Harry turned away from the Headmaster, desperate not to show weakness in front of the old man. He clenched his fists until they turned white, trying harder than he had ever had to before to control his emotions. Looking towards the Weasleys, who were stood, stock-still to his right, Harry's eyes were wide and watery as he gazed pleadingly over to them.

"I'm...I'm sorry Mrs Weasley, Mr Weasley, if I've ruined this," Harry said, his voice breaking. "If you want me to leave I will..."

Instead, Mrs Weasley turned her attention to the old Professor, her fury clear.

"Dumbledore, you have my respect for what you did during the last war, and you have my respect now," Molly said, barely restraining her anger. "You are a good man Albus, but if you think you can take that boy away from me, you're a bigger idiot than I thought! He's staying here, as long as he bloody well wants to!"

Harry let go of the breath he had been holding, his heart pumping loudly in his chest with some unknown emotion. He had never had someone on _his_ side before, and he wasn't quite sure how to deal with it.

"I want to stay here," Harry said firmly, praying that his voice didn't crack.

"Harry..." Dumbledore began, but Harry had had enough.

"I'm staying here!" Harry burst out, fury dancing in his bright green eyes. "You don't have the right to mess in my life anymore! You made a mistake, and I won't let you make another one! If you move me this time, I'll run away again, and this time, I'll know who to hide from!"

Harry glared at Dumbledore and Arthur knew the conversation was over, at least for now. He couldn't bear to look at the anger in Harry's eyes, nor the regret in Albus', for a second longer.

"Albus," Arthur said tentatively. "Perhaps it's best if you leave."

"I believe you're right," Dumbledore replied sadly. "It seems as if I have lost your trust, young Harry. It is no less than I deserve, of course. Would you please keep me informed of how you intend to act Arthur?"

There was an intense amount of trust in those pale blue eyes, and Arthur couldn't bring himself to break it, no matter how angry he was at the man for leaving Harry with those wretched muggles.

"I will," Arthur replied firmly. "But it will be what Harry wants, not what is best for the Wizarding World."

"Of course," Dumbledore said sadly, and then he was gone in one hot flash of green flames, and the only sign that he had been there at all was the slightly smouldering fireplace that he had left in his wake.

* * *

The silence that followed Dumbledore's exit was deafening.

Each of them stood stock-still, white faced as they turned to face Harry, the disbelief and anger still clear on his face. Eventually though, the initial shock wore off.

"I don't think I've ever heard mum swear before," Ron said, after a few moments, and the spell was broken.

Fred snorted.

"Sorry," Fred said, although he didn't seem sorry at all as he turned towards his mother. "It's just, you do realise that you just called the Headmaster of Hogwarts, one of the greatest Wizards of all time, an idiot?"

"Not now Fred." Molly said with a glare, before softening her expression as she turned to black haired boy. "Harry dear, are you okay?"

"Yeah," Harry muttered as he sank back down onto the sofa, roughly running a shaky hand over his face. "I...I did the right thing, didn't I?"

"Dear, I'm not even sure there _is_ a right thing," Molly said softly, taking a seat next to him. "But we'll support you one hundred percent. If don't trust Albus, then we won't force you to."

Green eyes shined brightly with unshed tears. The scrawny, black haired boy didn't seem to know what to say, or whether he should say anything at all, so Arthur stepped in, walking slowly and patiently over to the chair Harry was seated in, kneeling before it so that he was almost eye level with the boy.

"Harry," Arthur began gently. "There's something we need to talk about."

Harry nodded to Arthur although he couldn't seem to raise his eyes. Tenseness had enveloped his body, possibly due to the closeness of the older man, but Arthur couldn't bring himself to move away. He needed Harry to understand this.

"Listen, Harry," Arthur began, hoping he had the boy's full attention. "I spoke to a friend at the Ministry today, who works with Child Services in the Wizard World."

"Oh," Harry mumbled and his face seemed to drop. Arthur, who couldn't work out why that particular piece of news would affect the boy in that way, couldn't contain his curiosity.

"What's the matter, Harry?" he asked concerned.

"Well," Harry began quietly, struggling with some unknown emotion. "The system...well, it's not good for people like me. And well...I don't want to go to an orphanage."

"Oh, Harry," Arthur said sadly, his hand itching to grip the boy's shoulder in comfort. He refrained though; it was clear that Harry was anything but comfortable in his company, and he didn't want to make it worse for the boy. "Is that why you stayed on your own?"

Harry just shrugged but the involuntary clenching of his fists told Arthur the answer. Taking a deep breath, Arthur steeled himself against the anger he felt at Harry's previous relatives. He had heard the horror stories about what had happened on Privet Drive, but never had it seemed as real to him as it did now as he looked towards the nervous, malnourished, traumatised boy, who had spent the last two years living on his own because he thought it was the best possible solution in his horror-filled life.

"Well," Arthur continued, "it works somewhat differently in the Wizarding World. Our arrangements are much more...informal."

"S-So," Harry began nervously. "What's going to happen to me now?"

"Harry," Molly interjected, glancing towards her husband. "We meant what we said when Professor Dumbledore was here. We'd like you to stay here, if you still want to."

"It isn't because you're Harry Potter either, if that's something that you're worried about," Arthur said softly, and he was rewarded with green eyes tentatively meeting his gaze. The revelation hadn't really sunk in for Arthur yet, but he knew his words were the truth. "I'd already had my friend draw up these papers for us, before we even knew who they were really for. They're for Harry, not the Boy Who Lived."

Arthur held out the papers that he had been holding in his hand and Harry took them nervously, tense in case it was a trick.

Squinting, he pulled the papers close to his eyes, far closer than was normal. Arthur shared a look with Molly, and he knew she had noticed the same thing. They were prevented from addressing the issue though, when a tentative voice rang through the room, shock clear in the tone.

"Temporary adoption papers?" Harry said, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Well, Harry dear," Molly said softly, who had known he would organise this. "They're by no means a permanent solution, not in the Wizarding World. But they would mean that we would become your temporary guardians, at least until a more permanent solution could be found."

"And, I'd live here?" Harry asked, his eyes wide, unshed tears prickling at the edges.

"If you want to, Harry," Arthur confirmed, trying to add a reassuring smile to his face.

"I'd...I'd like that," Harry answered, gulping loudly in a way that suggested that he was trying to withhold great emotion. Arthur found his throat tightening in a similar way as he looked at the newest addition to their family.

Glancing round the room, Arthur was proud to see that there was not one face among his family who seemed to have any opposition to the adoption either, and it made his heart light in a way it had not been since the day that Ginny had been born.

"There's something else, Harry," Arthur began cautiously. "I went to your...hide-away on my way home..."

"What?" Harry asked, betrayal flaring in his expression. "Why?"

Arthur tried to remain emotionless in appearance, but he hated the fact that he had already angered the boy with his actions. He barely knew him, and yet he felt so intensely that he didn't want to hurt this boy any more than he already had.

"I went for this," Arthur said, walking over to the corner of the room where he had left the battered back-pack. "It occured to me, whilst I was at work, that you were probably forced to leave some things behind when you rescued my son. I wanted to return them to you. It was the least I could do."

Wide eyed, Harry took the backpack with shaking hands, the shock clear in his expression. He seemed to take a deep breath before diving into the bag to check what of his possesssions had survived. The relief and gratefulness on his face lightened Arthur's heart more than he ever dreamed it could.

"Thanks," Harry whispered, looking up at Arthur with those big green eyes.

It was a fragile trust between them, but it was trust nonetheless, and although there were still many issues to face, now they would face them together, and Arthur couldn't be more thankful.

* * *

**A/N- **Hello, my wonderful readers. Another chapter has arrived, and this one is by far the longest chapter yet! There's a lot in in as well, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Thank you for each and every review that was sent after the last chapter was posted. I haven't replied to any of them sadly, due to my distinct lack of time, but I appreciated every single one more than I could ever express. So thank you, from the bottom of my heart!

I'd love to hear what you thought of this chapter too, but for now, thanks for reading!


	11. Late Night Discussions

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones **

**Chapter 10: Late Night Discussions**

* * *

Harry crept down the small, tight stairs as quietly as possible, darkness enveloping his small form as he tried desperately not to wake up the other occupants of the house. It was late, so late that it was almost early, but sleep had so far evaded him, and he clenched his hand as he fought the urge to rub at his tired eyes for the hundredth time in the last few hours.

Hunger gripped his stomach in a familiar pain that he knew so well, but he pushed the feeling away as best he could, angry at himself for being the cause this time, rather than it being something beyond his control.

Dinner that night with the Weasleys had been an unusual affair for Harry; tenseness and anxiousness had been his prevalent emotions, and he had been almost silent during the meal, choosing instead to watch as the family interracted with obvious fondness.

On top of that, partly due to his nerves around the family and partly due to the fact that he had already been sick that day, his stomach had protested so much that he had barely managed a bite of the delicious meal before he found himself profusely apologising to Ron's mum when he couldn't eat anymore.

So, it was his own fault really that he was now sneaking around the house he had been told to temporarily treat as his own, pushing down the guilt as he crept around in search of food to satisfy his hunger. He'd had plenty of practice at this particular skill from his years of near-starvation at the Dursleys, but something about this night felt wrong to him somehow.

He'd had no qualms about taking whatever food he could sneak from his 'relatives' without them noticing, but now he found that he had doubts about the morality of stealing from the family who had taken him in. What if he was caught? Would it ruin everything?

He knew it shouldn't affect him- that he shouldn't care what the Weasleys thought about him. He knew that he should be stronger, braver, harder, but the two years he had spent sleeping rough on the streets were not enough to counteract the damage he knew had been done during the ten years he had spent at the Dursleys.

He was used to surviving on his own, used to scrounging meals wherever he could get them, but he was not used to the kindness that the Weasleys had shown him so far, and it had completely thrown him and put all his emotions up in the air. In all honesty, despite the reassurances that both Ron and his mum had given him, as well as the way the rest of the family had acted during dinner that night, Harry still found himself unsure of how to act.

Shaking his head to dispel the doubts that he knew he couldn't afford, he tip-toed silently through to the kitchen, his gaze on the floor and his thoughts distracting him so much that he didn't notice that the light was on in the room until it was too late. He had been far too concerned with being quiet that he had taken no notice of what was right in front of him.

It turned out he was not as alone as he'd thought.

"Harry?"

Harry froze, his eyes wide, rising slowly as he met the concerned, tired gaze of Mr Weasley.

Ron's dad was seated at the kitchen table with a mug of tea in front of him, his head resting in his arms. To Harry, he looked troubled and worried, and, despite his fear at being caught sneaking around the house, the black haired boy couldn't help but wonder what the man had to worry about.

Despite that though, Harry couldn't help but look deeper, even as fear clenched at his stomach. The man's prematurely balding head and the wrinkles lining his face attested to a life spent worrying, but there was something in his eyes, soft and unassuming, that led Harry to believe that the man was not necessarily unhappy. Oddly enough, it gave Harry a strange feeling of hope amidst the terror and doubt that plagued him.

"Harry," Mr Weasley repeated gently, concerned by the appearance of the boy this late at night. He rubbed his face tiredly as he stood up from the kitchen table, suppressing a sigh when the movement caused a flinch in the boy. "Are you okay?"

Harry nodded, his heart thumping madly as he looked towards the older man, fear palpable in the very air. If this had been Uncle Vernon, he would have been dead already.

"What's wrong?" Mr Weasley asked, his brow furrowed as he took in the scared, tense, frozen boy in the kitchen doorway. "Why are you up so late?"

"Couldn't sleep," Harry mumbled, his gaze lowered to the floor, as he tried desperately to make sure that his voice sounded strong. It was always worse if he seemed weak. He couldn't afford to show weakness or it would be preyed on, no doubt about it. It was a lesson he had learnt quickly, and painfully, during his life on the streets, and in Little Whinging.

"Look, I'm sorry," Harry said quickly before Mr Weasley could say anymore. "I shouldn't have...I'll go back upstairs. I'm...I'm sorry, sir."

"No, Harry, it's okay," Mr Weasley reassured quickly, careful not to make any sudden movements lest he scare the jumpy boy away. "And I'm not 'Sir', not to you. Or to anyone really. Call me Arthur. Or Mr Weasley, if that feels more comfortable."

Harry didn't answer, instead gulping loudly as he tried to suppress his long-learned lessons. It was proving more difficult than he'd hoped, and fear still had a grip on his mind.

"You can join me, if you want?" Mr Weasley said tentatively, talking as if he was scared of spooking a terrified animal into fleeing.

Harry took no notice of the words though, and he stumbled backwards slightly, his back hitting the frame of the door he had taken refuge in as all previous thoughts about bravery vanished into the very air. He couldn't help it; he wanted to leave, scared that the man would punish him now that his family were not with them. Now that they were alone.

The man – Mr Weasley - had said that it was okay, and that he could join him, but in his experience, words meant nothing really. Trust did not come easily to the boy, and despite their first meeting - which could have definitely gone worse - Harry knew that he couldn't afford to relax, especially in front of the man in the house.

Uncle Vernon had always been the worst of the Dursley family.

The urge to flee rose up in him again, almost overcoming sense, but Harry's stomach had other ideas, and it was with a sinking feeling that he heard a rumbling in his mid-section, a sure give-away of his reasons for being downstairs. He closed his eyes, his chest tightening as he waiting for the inevitable telling off. Or worse...

"Hungry?" Mr Weasley asked kindly, no trace of any anger in his voice.

Tentatively, Harry opened his eyes, unable to keep the confusion out of his expression. He tried to keep his face carefully blank - showing emotion was a weakness - but inside his mind was made up of a maelstrom of feeling, confusion and fear warring with each other as he looked towards the older man unsurely.

"I noticed that you didn't seem to eat much at dinner," continued Mr Weasley, only sympathy in his expression. "I wondered if you'd be hungry later on."

"Felt sick," Harry mumbled quietly, reluctant to answer but knowing he had little choice.

"Ah," Mr Weasley said, his tone full of sympathy. "Well, I don't blame you for that. It was rather a lot to take in."

The silence came upon them then, and it was particularly awkward as Harry refused to move even an inch in case he broke the strange truce they seemed to have. Being alone with adults- especially male adults- had always made him uncomfortable, although he had good reasons and experiences to back his feelings up.

Subconsciously he found that his eyes darted around the room, looking for a way out just in case he needed to run. Harry had never had this long with Uncle Vernon without the man's anger making itself known; his punishments had always been quick and painful, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if Mr Weasley was the same. After all, he had been caught sneaking around in the man's house...

Mr Weasley coughed awkwardly, but if had noticed Harry's uneasiness with the situation, he wasn't showing it on his face, and so far he hadn't reacted.

Taking a deep breath, Harry couldn't help but compare the two men, Ron's dad and Dudley's dad, as he shifted nervously from foot to foot, never leaving the relative safety of the doorway. So far Arthur Weasley was easily coming out on top, and Ron clearly thought the world of him, but Harry couldn't let himself trust the man even now. He had been burned by people too many times for that.

"Sit down, Harry," Mr Weasley sighed, pulling Harry out of his depressing thoughts. The tension around the young boy and himself was palpable but he pretended not to notice as he fixed what he hoped was a comforting smile on his face.

Harry, however, simply fidgeted from one sock-clad foot to the other, his hand nervously pulling at the borrowed pyjamas he was currently wearing. They were a little big for him, and no doubt made his frame look even thinner, but they were comfortable and they were warm, so he couldn't really complain.

In fact, they were the first pyjamas Harry could remember wearing, and he had found himself revelling in them when he had first put them on. Even at the Dursleys he had not been afforded the luxury of nightwear, instead being forced to wear one of Dudley's older t-shirts and a pair of ratty shorts during the long nights in his cupboard.

"Come on, sit down," Mr Weasley repeated, careful to keep his tone kind as he looked towards the pale boy who still hadn't moved. "I'm not as good as Molly when it comes to cooking, but I reckon I could rustle us up some soup."

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Harry sat unsurely in the seat at the opposite end of the table to Ron's dad as his stomach still grumbled uncomfortably. He kept his gaze fixed firmly on the wooden table as Mr Weasley bustled about the kitchen with pots and pans, but he was wary still, and constantly on alert. Being alone with the man, even though he had been quite nice to him so far, made Harry nervous from experience, largely experience born from a lifetime of learning when to duck a blow and when to run.

"So tell me, Harry," began Mr Weasley casually as he tended to the soup on the stove. Harry snapped his head up in attention, anticipation clear in his tense body. "What exactly is the function of a rubber duck?"

"Erm...excuse me?" Harry replied, wondering if that was a trick question. Rubber ducks? Was Mr Weasley a bit touched in the head?

"You grew up in the muggle world didn't you?" Arthur asked, apparently having missed Harry's disbelieving tone. "I've always been fascinated with muggles..."

"Muggles?" asked Harry tentatively, curiosity overcoming him for the moment. If Mr Weasley was a bit mad, then he supposed it was better to know now then find out later. After all, he knew nothing about the man really.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Arthur said, and to Harry it seemed as if he actually _was _sorry. It was a strange experience to hear an adult apologise to him. "Did Ron not explain? 'Muggle' is a term we in the Wizarding world use to describe non-magical people."

"Oh, right," replied Harry uncertainly.

"Molly thinks I'm daft of course," Mr Weasley continued cheerfully as he dished out too bowls of steaming hot tomato soup. Harry's stomach growled excitedly as the bowl was placed in front of him. Mr Weasley took a seat opposite, but if he had noticed how Harry had tensed at the close proximity, he didn't let it show. "But I just find them so fascinating. Some of the things muggles come up with..."

"Like rubber ducks," Harry added tentatively, his confidence around the man growing with each second that he avoided any sort of punishment. He had hoped that his life here would be different to what it had been at the Dursleys, but it felt good to have it confirmed somewhat. He took a deep sniff of the delicious smell of the soup before tentatively raising his spoon. It was heaven, pure heaven, for his starving stomach.

"Exactly," Mr Weasley said with a smile, the excitement clear in his eyes. "But what do they do?"

"Erm," began Harry uncertainly, taking a pause from eating for a moment. "They're plastic toys...that you play with in the bath. That's it really..."

"Genius," exclaimed Mr Weasley, looking more like a child did than Harry at the moment. Harry couldn't help but return to his comparison of Ron's dad and Uncle Vernon. In his opinion, of what he had seen of the man so far, the two couldn't be more different. Hope rose in his chest at the thought; maybe things _would _be different here.

"So how's the soup?" asked Mr Weasley as he took a sip of his own.

"S'good," Harry mumbled, spooning more of the delicious meal into his mouth.

They ate in silence, content to enjoy the food and the quietness of a house that was mostly asleep. When the last spoonful had been licked, and Harry reluctantly dropped his spoon back in the bowl, Mr Weasley turned his attention back to the black haired boy, the newest addition to his family.

"Am I right in thinking that it wasn't just hunger that kept you awake tonight?" Mr Weasley asked shrewdly, and Harry was once again taken aback by the concern in the older man's expression. Taking a deep breath, Harry decided to do something that went completely against his instincts; he was going to trust the man, at least with the truth if nothing else.

"It's as if...it's too loud and too quiet at the same time," Harry said, but he flushed when he realised how stupid that sounded. "I mean...we're not in London anymore, and I'm not used to the quiet of the countryside. The city noises – they're missing. And well...I'm not used to sharing a room with someone either..."

"Ron's snoring bothering you?" Mr Weasley asked sympathetically, apparently pleased about the fact that Harry had started to talk to him.

"No," Harry replied quietly. "Well, not exactly. It's just...everything. The noise of him breathing, moving about in the bed, muttering in his sleep. It puts me...on edge. I keep thinking I'm about to be attacked or something. I'm just so used..."

"To being alone," Mr Weasley finished sadly, understanding clear as he gazed over to the boy sat opposite him.

"Yeah," Harry sighed, rubbing a hand nervously through his messy hair.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Mr Weasley said suddenly. "I'm sorry that those terrible things happened to you."

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry said quickly, before flushing almost immediately.

Was he being rude? His breathing quickened as he tentatively looked towards Mr Weasley. He wasn't used to dealing with adults, not in a positive capacity anyway, and in truth, he had no idea how to act.

"I suspect that's normal," Mr Weasley said softly, and Harry released the breath he was holding. "I'm not altogether sure it would be easy for anyone to hear either."

Harry didn't know what to say, so he chose instead to fiddle with a thread on his pyjama top. Mr Weasley looked on sympathetically, with no trace of pity in his eyes.

"If you ever need to talk," Mr Weasley continued, his tone sure. "If you ever decide that you need to talk with someone...about anything at all...well, I'll be there to listen. Molly will too, if you feel more comfortable talking to her. I know everything's happened a bit fast, and it's normal to feel overwhelmed. Just remember, you're safe here."

"Thanks," Harry said softly, gulping back the emotion that was trying to force its way up.

"I mean it," Mr Weasley said with a kind smile, a smile that Harry tentatively returned. All too soon, however, Mr Weasley turned serious again. "I will never hurt you. Not ever."

"I know," Harry whispered, the smile dropping from his face. "Ron told me..."

"Harry, I mean it," Mr Weasley repeated, having noticed the uncertainty that still plagued the boy. Resisting the desperate urge to curse the boy's relatives for the damage they had done to Harry, Arthur forced himself to continue. "I will never hit you. I will never beat you. I will never bully you. Harry, I will _never_ hurt you."

Harry looked up, and immediately saw the sincerity in the older man's eyes, but doubt still clouded his mind, tightening his chest as he fought to voice what he had been feeling for a very long time.

"But you don't know me," Harry whispered, lowering his gaze to his hands. "What if I deserve it?"

"Oh Harry," Mr Weasley said, his hand itching to make contact, to reassure him that touch did not always equal pain. "You never deserved that. No matter what you did, what happened to you was wrong. It was wrong."

"But he never hurt Dudley," Harry said, tears slipping from his eyes as he let go a confession that had been haunting him for years. "It was always me. It must have been something about me..."

"It wasn't you," Mr Weasley told the black haired boy, as tears gathered at the corners of his own eyes. "There's nothing wrong with you- nothing you ever did deserved that kind of punishment. It was them. _They _were the one that were wrong."

Mr Weasley looked towards Harry, sadness touching every corner of his face, barely suppressing the anger at the people who had damaged this boy so thoroughly that he believed that there was something wrong with _him. _

"I know it will take time, Harry," Mr Weasley continued softly. "But you are safe here. Tomorrow, I'm going to meet with Professor Dumbledore to discuss your schooling, but I'm going to ask if he could help establish some wards around our home as well."

"You don't need to go to any trouble," Harry said, absently wiping away the stray tears that still stuck to his face.

"It's no trouble, Harry," Mr Weasley said sadly. "I hope you'll be staying here for a long time, and with your status, we want to make sure you're safe."

"You still want me to stay?" Harry choked out.

"Yes, Harry," Mr Weasley said. "I know you think that we'll change our minds. That once Molly and I get to know you more that we'll start to see what your relatives saw, but it will never happen Harry. I already know enough about you."

"That I'm the Boy Who Lived - "

"No, that you're Harry," Mr Weasley interrupted. "You're a brave young boy who has somehow survived all these years without any help. You've been beaten, bullied and traumatised, but where anyone else would have given up long ago, you carried on. You're so full of courage, as well as a selflessness that is frankly astounding given what you've been through, that you saved a boy you didn't even know from people who could have killed you. I know it's not easy for you to accept, but we want to help you, not because you're famous, or even because we owe you something, but because we honestly want to. You're strong Harry, but you're not alone, not anymore. Let someone else worry about you for a change."

Instinctively, as the words began to sink into his already overloaded brain, Harry knew that _he _was the reason that Mr Weasley was up late, with his head in his hands. Harry would have felt guilt, will probably feel guilty later on, but honestly there was no room in his head for all the emotion that was piling up on him. All he could think was that Mr Weasley had been worrying about him.

No, not about him. _For _him.

Harry couldn't speak, had no words left in him to say, confusion warring in him as feelings of abandonment and loneliness fought with hope and the feeling that he might actually finally belong somewhere. That someone might actually care about him.

"Why don't you go back up to bed," Mr Weasley said softly as he pulled himself up from the table. He seemed to realise that Harry felt a little overloaded, and for that Harry was grateful. "Try to get some rest, won't you."

Harry nodded, moving on auto-pilot as he got up from the table and made his way back to the bedroom he shared with Ron, pausing only to nod his thanks towards Mr Weasley. Once he lay back on the camp bed, with the covers pulled up to his chin, exhaustion, both mental and physical came quickly upon him, and he drifted off almost immediately.

Mr Weasley, however, barely slept a wink.

* * *

**A/N-** Well, I probably over did this with angst and emotion, and I apologise if it is too much, but I couldn't help it. I know that some of my readers want Harry to be this strong, unflappable street kid who doesn't care about anyone else, and who is unaffected by everything, but I simply couldn't write him like that.

To me, Harry has always been affected by what happened to him at the Dursleys, and two years on the streets was simply not enough to erase the marks they left on him (inside and out). He _is _strong, but at the same time, he's just a scared young boy who knows nothing but horror and pain, and who honestly doesn't know how to react when someone is nice to him.

I couldn't see him running away from what the Weasleys were offering him, no matter how scared he might be, but I also couldn't see him simply accepting it with a doubt or second thought. He's taken a big step here, and Ron will play a big part in getting him to trust the Weasleys, but his past isn't simply going to go away. I hope you, as readers, can understand that.

Anyway, I hope all that came across in the chapter, at least. Thanks for all your thoughts of the last chapter, I appreciate every single one. Hopefully this chapter hasn't disappointed you.

Thanks for reading!


	12. Off to see the Wizard

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

S**ticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 11: Off to see the Wizard**

* * *

"Harry," Mr Weasley called from the kitchen, and Harry raised his head to look towards the door from his position on the sofa, confusion in his eyes. "Could we speak to you for a moment?"

Harry had spent most of the morning with Ron, mostly playing chess as he tried to put his exhausting late night talk with Mr Weasley behind him, but it appeared that his brief reprieve was over, and he sighed as he mentally tried to prepare himself for what was probably yet another difficult discussion.

He turned his head, green eyes immediately noticing the expression of confusion on Ron's face; it seemed that the redhead had no idea what Mr Weasley could want with his friend, and for that Harry was grateful. It was bad enough that he had embarrassed himself in front of one person; he didn't want to look weak in front of his new friend as well.

After the conversation he had had last night with Mr Weasley, Harry had been feeling slightly more relaxed in the Weasley household. Of course, his doubts hadn't disappeared overnight – they probably wouldn't ever leave him completely – but he did feel safer now. His future was still uncertain, and he had so much information _still _to deal with, things that he had been avoiding even thinking about up until now, but in a strange way, he actually felt like he might be able to deal with it all now.

Or, at least, that he wasn't completely alone in dealing with it. He supposed that the embarrassment he felt at being so emotional was a fair trade really for the knowledge that he wasn't alone here.

Harry got up quickly, abandoning the game of chess he had been playing with his friend as he walked cautiously into the kitchen to meet with Mr and Mrs Weasley. Nerves wracked his frame but he pushed them away. He was safe here. Mr Weasley had promised he would be safe here.

"Harry," Mrs Weasley said fondly, and Harry could already feel himself becoming attached to the kindly woman. Today was only Harry's second day in her home, but already she had shown him more care and, dare he say..._love_ than his Aunt had ever shown him in the entire ten years that he had lived with his relatives.

Mrs Weasley smiled at him as he walked slowly through the doorway, and Harry felt himself relax even more, though his instincts still meant that he was slightly tense, especially when he realised that both Weasley parents had their attention completely focused on him. It was a little unnerving, especially after two years on the streets where he had been essentially ignored and treated as if he was nothing better than dirt. Come to think of it, his life at the Dursleys hadn't been much better. There, he had been compared more to a slug though...

"Sit down, dear," she said softly, interrupting his rather morbid, depressing musing, and after shaking himself rather forcibly to dispel the memories that he'd rather not think about, Harry followed her instructions, taking a seat at the kitchen table opposite both Ron's parents.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Mr Weasley asked kindly, and Harry felt himself blush slightly as he looked into the older man's eyes. He definitely felt embarrassed by how much he had let slip last night, and how he had acted in front of Mr Weasley. He blamed tiredness on his lack of inhibitions; he usually controlled his emotions better than that, but something about the casual kindness with which Mr Weasley had talked to him, reassuring him and listening to him without judgement, even feeding him without getting annoyed about being disturbed, had undone something in Harry.

"I'm fine," Harry said softly, and he almost meant it. He kept his gaze on the table, fiddling nervously with his hands as he waited for one of them to speak.

"That's good," Mr Weasley said, and as Harry looked up, he was surprised to see that the man actually seemed as if he meant it. Harry chanced a glance at Mrs Weasley and judging by the lack of surprise on her face at the conversation, the two had already talked about what had happened late last night. Oddly, Harry didn't mind all that much. It kind of felt as if they were just worried about him. Butterflies seemed to fly through his stomach at the very thought.

"Now, Harry," Mr Weasley continued, as Mrs Weasley placed a plate of shortbread biscuits in front of him. After an encouraging nod from Ron's mum he took one and returned his attention to Mr Weasley, who began to talk once more.

"I trust you remember during our conversation last night, when I mentioned I'd be meeting with Professor Dumbledore today to discuss your education?"

Harry nodded, barely concealing the anger he still felt towards the old Headmaster, regardless of how sorry the old man was. Curiosity did rise in him, however, eventually overtaking the anger. Truth be told, he was desperate to find out what was going to happen to him now. He probably couldn't stay here forever, and if he was ever going to make something of his life, he's need to go to school and learn something.

Harry sat up straighter in his chair, pushing away the small amount of anger he still felt towards Professor Dumbledore as he turned his attention fully to Mr Weasley. He had a feeling that Dumbledore was desperate to get him enrolled in the school, and he cursed his own lack of control over the whole question of his future.

"Well, I spoke to him this morning," Mr Weasley said, frowning slightly as he looked at Harry's face and at the anger he could detect there, "and he's agreed to set up a meeting this afternoon to discuss how your education will proceed."

"Okay," Harry said unsurely, confused as to why Mr Weasley was telling him this. His future wasn't any more concrete than it had been last night, so he couldn't quite work out why they had called him in here. What did they want to talk to him about?

His question was soon answered however, and with it came a strange sense of forboding.

"Professor Dumbledore suggested that perhaps _you_ would wish to join the meeting," Mr Weasley told him, and Harry's eyebrows rose up slightly in surprise. He certainly hadn't seen that one coming. "I'm ashamed that I didn't think of it myself. It is your future after all."

"Oh," said Harry lamely, emotions running wild in his chest. He had never, not once in his entire life, had an adult consider how _he _felt about something. Decisions had either been made for him, or he had made them himself without the help of an adult, but never had things been _discussed, _as if he actually had a choice in the matter. Everything had always seemed to have been forced onto him, and he felt his brain throb slightly as he tried to comprehend this new development.

"Now, Harry," Mrs Weasley said kindly as she took note of his reaction. "You don't have to decide anything for the moment. No one will force you to go anywhere you don't want to. I'll make us some lunch and you can think it over."

"The meeting isn't until three this afternoon," Mr Weasley interjected softly. "So you'll have plenty of time to decide what you want to do."

"The meeting's at Hogwarts? The magic school?" Harry clarified tentatively, relieved to find that his voice wasn't shaking despite his turbulent emotions.

Mr Weasley simply nodded, hiding a small smile as he noticed the excitement light up in the young boy's eyes when he spoke about the school. It was clear what Harry wanted to do; the problem was going to be convincing the teachers. That, and finding a solution that suited everybody. Harry still needed a lot of help and support.

"Who else will...be there?" Harry asked quietly, although he was afraid of the answer. He was having enough trouble dealing with one family at the moment; he didn't really fancy being paraded in front of a huge group of strangers.

"It's a school matter, so all the Heads of Houses will be present, along with Professor Dumbledore and myself," answered Mr Weasley.

"You'll be there?" Harry asked, hope shining in his eyes despite the worry rising in his chest.

"We're your guardians now, Harry," Mr Weasley said, a thought confirmed with a nod from his wife beside him. "I'd do the same for any one of my children."

"Do they...do they know about me?" Harry asked nervously, not even able to process that last thought yet.

Mr Weasley frowned at the question, but he answered anyway, although it was clear that he wasn't quite certain what Harry wanted to know.

"They know that you are Harry Potter," Mr Weasley began, but sensing that there was more to the question, he continued. "They know some of your _history _at the Dursleys, and they know that you ran away, but I don't think they know where you've been for the last two years, nor how you have been living since the night you ran away."

"Oh, er," Harry began, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. He could handle that. "I...I'd like to go then..."

"Are you sure, Harry?" Mr Weasley asked him, and he nodded confidently, trying desperately to push away his anxiousness.

Harry had never been given the opportunity to have a say in his own life before, except when he had been on the streets, and there his options had been severely limited, almost to the point where he had had no real options anyway. Now that he had been presented with this opportunity, however difficult it might be to face four new strangers, he knew he couldn't afford to pass it up.

"Okay, then" Mr Weasley said with a proud smile, and Harry gave him a tentative yet sincere smile in return.

After moment though, as if reminded of something else, Mr Weasley's expression grew serious once again.

"There's something else, Harry," Mr Weasley began as he sighed deeply. "We'd like you to get a medical check-up from a Professional Healer,"

Harry began protest but Mr Weasley raised a hand to continue, and Harry found that the words were stuck in his throat as looked at the two of them, and how much they wanted him to do this.

"Now hear me out, Harry," Mr Weasley said firmly, although he made sure to make it clear that they weren't going to force Harry into anything. "We know you're still in pain from the fight you were in, but on top of that, we need to make sure you're as healthy as possible. And I'm afraid neither of us are medically trained. We just want to know that you're okay."

"Okay...I mean...it makes sense, I suppose," Harry agreed reluctantly, as he moved his shoulder gently, still finding the area incredibly sore. He knew they meant no harm in it, and that they were only doing it because they cared about him. Oddly, he felt that strange fluttering in his belly again at the thought of someone actually wanting him to be okay.

"So are we going to a hospital then?" he asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. As much as he knew they were only trying to help, Harry hated hospitals with a passion. They didn't exactly hold good memories for him.

"Actually, since the meeting is at Hogwarts, I thought we could swing by the hospital wing there and visit Madame Pomfrey," Arthur told him. "She's the school nurse. I believe she stays at the school during the first few weeks of the holiday to replenish the Potion supplies, so I'm sure she'll be available to give you a check-up. Is that okay?"

"I suppose so," Harry said quietly. It wasn't ideal, but he supposed it was better that a hospital and he didn't want to disappoint the Weasley parents by refusing to go, not when they had done so much for him in the last few days.

"Thank you, Harry," Mrs Weasley said as she patted him gently on the shoulder. He did his best to supress the flinch that flared up naturally at the touch, but he was sure Mr Weasley had noticed.

"One more thing, Harry, and then you can get back to your chess game," Mr Weasley said, and this time he had a slight smile on his face. "Here."

He held out his hand towards Harry and the black haired boy found his hand shaking slightly as he tentatively took the object that was being offered to him.

"Glasses?" Harry said, desperately trying to keep at bay the tears that he could feel forming in the corners of his eyes.

The glasses had round lenses, but unlike his old, ugly pair, these had an elegant gold frame to hold them in place. He felt his heart drop though, as he examined them properly. They were clearly made for an adult, and would definitely fall off his thin, gaunt face of he tried to put them on.

"We noticed that you seem to have a problem with your sight, Harry dear," Mrs Weasley said, her concern rising as he noticed the wide range of emotions that flitted across the black haired boy's face. "Short-sighted?"

Harry just nodded. He wasn't sure how he felt at the moment, and he certainly didn't have it in him to verbalise anything at the moment. He was sure his voice would crack, and he didn't want to show any weakness.

"As it happens, so am I," Mr Weasley said, pointing to his own pair, those on his face, before turning his attention to the pair Harry was holding. "These are an old pair of mine, but I don't mind if you borrow them - just until we can get you your own pair, of course. I know our prescriptions won't be the same, but at least it might be an improvement – "

"They won't fit," Harry said dejectedly, holding out his palm as he offered the glasses back to Mr Weasley. Mr Weasley simply smiled though, and raised his wand.

He muttered a strange word, and to Harry's amazement the glasses began to shrink until they became a size much more suited to his face.

"Wow," Harry said as he placed the glasses tentatively on his nose.

He couldn't prevent a smile from tugging at his lips as he looked at the magical household properly for the first time. His vision was still slightly blurry, but the change was so startling that he wondered how he had been managing without glasses at all.

"Thanks," he whispered, as he took in the faces of Ron's parents, looking at them properly for the first time without squinting. He had been right; they did have kind eyes.

Harry smiled; he could see again, and although it wasn't perfect, it did make him feel better about the upcoming meeting at the school. Nervousness still gripped at his stomach, but at least now he felt less vulnerable.

Maybe he could do this.

* * *

As he and Mr Weasley made their way quietly towards Dumbledore's office, despite the nervousness he felt regarding the upcoming meeting, Harry could barely contain his awe as he stared at moving paintings, moving staircases, and real ghosts, trying desperately to take it all in.

He was in a bloody great castle.

The place was like something out of a fairytale, and honestly, if Harry wasn't hadn't just gone through a very uncomfortable visit with the school nurse, he would've thought he was dreaming the whole thing up.

When they had first arrived at Hogwarts, it had been in an unspectacular, yet painful, heap on the floor of the hospital wing. Mr Weasley had assured him that it was perfectly safe and normal to throw himself into the green flames that had erupted in the Weasleys' fireplace that afternoon, but Harry had been very reluctant to believe him. In the end, he'd only done it because Mr Weasley had gone first and had returned to prove that it was indeed possible to survive the ordeal.

Although, in the end he _had_ arrived safely, Harry still had no particular desire to repeat the experience.

Almost as soon as he had pulled himself off the cold, stone floor, shakily trying to dust the ashes from his borrowed clothes, he'd been accosted by a stern looking nurse, barely giving him time to readjust the glasses he had just been given.

Obviously having been expecting him, she had nudged him towards a hospital bed, and had told him in no uncertain terms that he was to strip out of his clothes and put on a hospital gown.

He had done so only because she looked the type of person who he shouldn't upset, but he had been unable to stop his limbs from shaking slightly at the action. Tense, he had waited on the bed nervously before she had come to greet him, and her expression upon seeing him did nothing to quell his fear. He didn't miss her eyes fly up to look at his forehead, to where his scar would be visible had it not been hiden behind his messy black hair. Neither did he miss the tears that prickled at her eyes, nor the short gasp that escaped from her lips when she took in his appearance properly for the first time since his abrupt arrival.

Two days at the Weasleys had not been nearly enough to erase the damage done by two years on the street.

The examination itself had been relatively painless, all things considered, although he had forced himself, halfway through, to close his eyes so that he didn't have to look at the pity in the nurse's eyes as she catalogued every abrasion, bruise and scar. He hated pity, almost as much as he hated being reminded of the past. It had been excruitated to be laid bare like that, each scar reminding him of a terrible incident, a past pain that he would rather forget. For years, he himself hadn't even been able to look at himself in the mirror, but it had felt nothing short of mortifying, somehow, for someone else to have seen him like that, even if she was a nurse, and a stranger at that. He had been completely vulnerable throughout the whole check-up, and he'd hated it.

She'd seemed to have collected herself by the end, and had told him, much more gently that time he noted, to put his clothes back on while she went to have a word with Mr Weasley. The Weasley patriarch had mercifully not been present for the ordeal.

Obviously, the news had not been good, especially judging by the concerned look on the man's face, although Harry wasn't entirely sure what Mr Weasley had been expected. He had been living on the streets after all; he wasn't exactly going to be the picture of health, but he felt fine now. Especially after drinking some of the disgusting potions that the nurse had given him.

Now, as he and Mr Weasley walked down the corridor without speaking, Harry forced himself to put the uncomfortable experience behind him as best he could. After all, he was feeling much better. Sighing slightly, Harry took in the small frown on Mr Weasleys face as they paused outside what appeared to be a statue. He was about to say something, to convince Mr Weasley that there was no need to worry and that he was actually fine, when the statue began to move.

Harry had become so accustomed to magic over the last couple of days that he almost didn't jump this time.

Shaking himself slightly as his cheeks reddened, embarrassed by his reaction, Harry simply followed Mr Weasley as he walked up the stairs that had appeared from nowhere, nervousness causing his stomach to do somersaults as his breathing grew slightly erratic. Bracing himself, Harry forced his legs to move, keeping his head down as he walked through the threshold and into the office.

The sight that greeted him nearly took his breath away.

Harry could barely contain his awe as he looked around the most incredible office he had ever seen. Ornaments, all clearly magical, seemed to cover every surface, and more moving portraits covered the walls.

He could have looked at the place for days, especially now that his vision wasn't plagued by blurriness. Curiosity swelled inside his chest, but a small cough brought his attention abruptly to the matter at hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mr Weasley fidget slightly and it reassured him to see that perhaps he wasn't the only one who was nervous.

"Hello, Harry," Professor Dumbledore said softly. Harry simply nodded to him, still unsure of what to say to the man who had effectively condemned him to ten years of hell. It was clear that the old man felt remorse for his actions all those years ago, but that did nothing to erase the scars, both inside and out, that still plagued Harry to this day because of that man's decision.

Dumbledore simply looked at him sadly, but did not move to apologise again, and for that at least, Harry was grateful.

"This is Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick and Professor Snape," Dumbledore said, as he pointed to each one in turn.

McGonagall was tall, with her dark hair pulled tightly in a bun, and Harry immediately got the impression that she was not a teacher to cross. There was an certain intelligence about her that intimidated him slightly, and he knew almost instinctively that she would be a hard person to lie to. Despite that though, there was something about her, something in her eyes, that led him to think that she was the kind of person you wanted on your side.

Flitwick was equally intimidating, but in a different way. Harry had become good at reading people over the years, and he immediately got the impression that despite his tiny size, Flitwick was a powerful Wizard. His keen eyes surveyed Harry, and the black-haired boy almost flinched at the intelligence contained within them.

Sprout was again different, but Harry immediately felt himself warm to her. The Professor's kind eyes looked at him with an expression that was as warm as a hug and equally welcoming. She was the friendliest of the four, but there was an intelligence within her that led Harry to believe that she was by no means the weakest.

It was the fourth Professor, Professor Snape, that almost had Harry reaching for the door. Tall, regal and intimidating, Harry unconsciously took a step back as his own green eyes met the black obsidian depths of the Professor's, eyes containing such intensity that Harry had to resist the urge to flinch. The look that the greasy haired Professor was giving him was enough to chill his blood. Harry wondered what he had done to make this man hate him so much...

"Now, shall we get down to business?" Dumbledore said cheerfully, although there was a strain in his voice that he couldn't quite keep hidden. Harry looked warily over to Snape, still unnerved by the hatred contained in the Professor's eyes, as he took a seat next to Mr Weasley at the table that had been provided for the meeting.

"Young, Harry," Dumbledore began. "Now, since we're gathered here to discuss your future, I think it's only appropriate if you begin. Tell us, Harry, what is it you want to discuss?"

What did he want? What a strange question. How on earth was he supposed to answer that?

"What do you mean, Sir?" Harry asked, careful to keep his tone polite as he fought down the surfacing doubts that were rising up in his mind.

"Well, let us begin at the beginning, so to speak," Dumbledore answered, surveying Harry from above his half moon spectacles. "What schooling have you experienced so far? How far are you in your muggle education for example?"

"Oh, er, right," Harry said nervously. "Well, I went to primary school, and I wasn't too bad there I suppose. Not top...but not t-too bad. After I...well, you know...I didn't really go to school. I can read and write though, I promise! I just need a bit of practice – "

"Harry, calm yourself," Dumbledore said gently. "That is quite alright."

"What experience do you have of magic, Mr Potter," asked the tall Witch curiously – McGonagall, Harry reminded himself.

"I...I've always been able to do...weird stuff, I suppose," Harry began uncertainly. "Although I didn't know it was magic at the time. When I was younger...when I still lived with..._them..._I used to do it all the time, but never on purpose. Once I...left, sometimes, I'd get this feeling, you know...in my chest, and I'd be able to..._wish _for things to happen..."

He ducked his head in embarrassment as the eyes of all the adults noticably widened.

"Albus," McGonagall said, shock clear in all their expressions as she turned to the Headmaster. "He's been doing conscious, wand-less magic. This is incredible!"

"Indeed it is," Dumbledore agreed, although he seemed slightly wary as he looked over to the frail boy in front of him. "How often did that happen Harry?"

"Not much, only when I was in...d-danger really," Harry answered quietly. "Sometimes it didn't even work..."

"Even so, Headmaster," piped up Flitwick excitedly. "The boy is powerful."

"There is no doubt," Dumbledore agreed, but there was a frown on his face that left fear in Harry's heart. "But that is simply not enough for him to enter the school this late into the admissions process. He is far too behind to be allowed to join children his own age, and yet I'm not comfortable placing him the new incoming students either."

Harry felt his heart drop.

"But surely, allowances could be made, Albus," Mr Weasley pleaded, and Harry raised his head in hope. "He'll need to be trained."

"Hogwarts is not the place for him to do it," Snape said bluntly, speaking for the first time since the meeting had begun. "That sort of power combined with the fact that he is untrained...it simply would not be..._safe_ to have him around the other children."

"Albus, what if we trained him then?" McGonagall suggested, turning desperately towards the Headmaster. "Outside of the school. He is living with you, is he not, Arthur?"

"He is," Mr Weasley stated surely.

"Then, if Molly is willing, she could privately tutor Mr Potter during the week. Then at weekends, we could take it in turns to supervise his progress and give him specialised teaching in our respective fields. With the one-on-one tutoring, and a lot of hard work...why, I expect Mr Potter could be caught up with his age group in a year, maybe two."

Dumbledore seemed to be considering this, and Harry felt hope flare in his chest once again.

"Yes, I suspect that could work," Dumbledore mused before turning his attention to Harry. "Would you be willing to study, to work hard, and to do any homework you are set to the best of your ability?"

Harry gulped. "Y-Yes, Sir."

"Arthur," Dumbledore continued. "Would Molly be willing to undertake such a difficult responsibility, do you think?"

"I'll ask her, but I'm sure her answer would be yes," Arthur answered, sparing a small smile for Harry.

"Then I think we have a possible solution," Dumbledore said, and the relief was palpable in his expression. "We can finalise the details at a later date, but I think it's safe to say we have a solution that suits all. Once he has adequate control over his powers, and has reached the level of his peers, Mr Potter will be allowed to join the school officially."

"There is just one thing, Headmaster," sneered Snape, and Harry held his breath slightly as he looked towards the dark-haired Professor. "How can we be so certain that this boy is worth our time? How do we know that we can trust his word? He could have been living with Death Eaters for all we know -"

"Severus!" admonished McGonagall, but the greasy haired Professor carried on regardless, turning his cold eyes to Harry.

"It is a fair point Minerva. I'm sure we're all a little curious as to where _Mr Potter _has been hiding all these years," Snape said, and Harry felt his heart beating madly in his chest. "After all, we know very little about the boy. I'm not sure I, for one, entirely believe his story that he simply chose one day to..._run away_. Who helped you?"

"I've been...in London...on my own..." Harry answered as panic began to rise within him, extinguishing any hope he had left.

"But Mr Potter," Snape spat out, and this time Harry couldn't hold back a flinch. "How could you have possibly been in London, when you were supposed to be living with your relatives in Surrey?"

"They...I...I ran away," Harry answered feebly, as he took in the shocked faces of the other Professors. They, apparently, hadn't expected this interrogation either, but neither did they seem ready to stop it.

"So, boy, answer us this," the greasy-haired man sneered, his expression one of intense dislike. "How is that, as young as you were, you still managed to get all the way to London by yourself?"

_He doesn't believe me, _Harry thought desperately. He had been worried about this. From the moment a meeting had been suggested, Harry had been hampered with the feeling that he wouldn't be worth the trouble. He knew he was the supposed Boy-Who-Lived, but he also knew that he wasn't exactly hero material. He'd worried that once they realised that simple fact about him, they would toss his cares aside and leave him to fend for himself again.

Harry's breathing grew erratic, despite the fact that plans had already been made to accommodate him. Once they realised how much he had suffered, how broken he was now, would they go back on their word?

"Please, Sir," Harry said, trying to reason with the man, as he felt the opportunity of studying at this school trickle away from him. Teachers at his old school hadn't liked him either.

And no one there had _ever_ believed him.

"Mr Potter," Snape said patronisingly. "Your story is simply not possible. You were a small child. You had no money. You would have died in hours -"

"I nearly did die!" Harry exclaimed angrily. He had gone through too much in his life to let this bitter, angry man ruin the one opportunity he had to make things better.

"And yet you did not," Snape sneered, talking to the room as if he was a prosecuter trying to convince a jury. "You are lying, Mr Potter. You could not have possibly made it all the way to London on your own, as you suggest. You are trying to gain our sympathies with false tales of hardship, when instead I suspect you have probably been pampered for your whole life! I'm afraid your lies will not work on me -"

"There was a man!" Harry burst out, almost against his will. Once the words left his lips, he knew he regretted them, but there was nothing to be done. The teachers, and Mr Weasley he noted, were looking at him expectantly, each with no idea as to what they were asking him. That they were asking him to relive one of the darkest memories he had...

Mr Weasley looked towards Harry, not even bothering to hide his concern as he took in the paleness of his face and the slight shaking of the boy's limbs.

Both he and Molly had decided, almost as soon as they had met the boy, to take things slowly and let him move at his own pace. That had included getting him to talk about what had happened to him. Harry had clearly been traumatised and they both knew it would do no good to force him to speak about the horrors he had faced in his young life. Instead, Arthur had just offered the boy an outlet, careful to make himself seem available to talk to, without forcing Harry into it.

Looking at the terror in those striking green eyes now, Arthur knew he had made the right decision, and that forcing Harry to talk was wrong...

"Harry," Mr Weasley said softly. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to."

"Yes, I do," Harry whispered, knowing in his heart of hearts that they would not let up until he told them, Snape especially. He needed them to believe that he wasn't lying. "I just need a second..."

Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself against the barrage of emotion invoked by such a simple question. How had he made it all the way to London?

"It was night. I was walking...by the side of the road in Surrey..." Harry began desperately trying to keep his voice strong, desperately trying not to show weakness. He wasn't a little kid anymore, and this had happened years ago. He could handle it. "And I was _so _tired, otherwise..." He trailed off, words failing him for the moment as the memories bombarded his mind.

"Otherwise what, Harry?" Professor Dumbledore asked gently.

"Otherwise I probably wouldn't have gone with him..." Harry answered, his expression pained as regret flared up in his mind. Such a stupid mistake...

"Who, Harry?" Dumbledore pressed.

"There was...he stopped his car," Harry replied, his eyes closed as if it could block out the face he had seen all those years ago. A face he would never forget. The first face of many he wished he_ could_ forget.

"He...asked if I needed a lift anywhere," Harry continued dully. "I thought he was trying to help. I wouldn't have gone with him...I know it was stupid...but I was so tired..."

"Oh, Harry" said a voice to his left. He thought it might have been Professor McGonagall but he refused to open his eyes so he couldn't know for sure.

"So I...I got in his car, and...he drove us to all the way to London. At the time, I didn't think much about...where we were going. I hadn't even planned on heading to London, really. I was just... I was glad to get away..."

"What happened then, Harry?" Dumbledore asked gently, although his voice wavered slightly.

Harry opened his eyes but they were dull, and he was so far gone in his memories that he even forgot to be angry at the old man. He took a deep breath, steeling himself once again.

"When...when we got there, he parked the car on a deserted street. He turned to me...he turned to me...and said I had to..._repay _him. That I should...that I should...

"Did he...?" Arthur began, his eyes wide in horror as he fought to verbalise the words that were becoming so difficult to form.

"He didn't..._touch _me," Harry choked out, gripping his hands tightly together to try in vain to stop them shaking. "I didn't let him...I just panicked and punched him...you know..._there. _Then I got out the car and ran. Ran for hours..."

He looked from one horrified face to another, shock clear in each set of eyes as they stared at him as though he was a ghost.

Now, they knew how he had got to London on the night that he'd run away from his terrible life, but, as he looked at each one of their faces, he could tell that they wished they hadn't known at all.

"Please," Harry begged, clenching his fists in an attempt to keep whatever dignity remained as he turned to face Mr Weasley. "I want to go. Please, Sir, I want to leave."

Arthur didn't even have it in him to correct the distraught boy about calling him 'sir' again. Instead, he sent a glare worthy of his wife towards the shell-shocked Potion's Professor.

"You bastard, Snape," he said harshly, before carefully smoothing out his features so that none of the anger he felt was on his face when he turned towards Harry.

"Come on, Harry," he said gently, cautiously taking hold of the shaking boys arm to guide him towards the door. Harry flinched, obviously surprised by the contact, but he did not pull away and for that Arthur was grateful. He wanted to offer some comfort to the boy. As Harry had been telling them of a small part of the horrors he had faced in his young life, Arthur had never felt so helpless.

Because their involvement had come too late to save him.

"I'll take you home," he promised, his voice a mere whisper.

And so he did.

* * *

**A/N-** Hi everyone, I hope you enjoyed the newest instalment.

I'd particularly appreciate it if you could tell me what you thought of Harry's little story. I know it's dark, but Harry's life was never going to be easy, just like it isn't easy for any child living on the streets. This was just a small extract of the horror to show how truly vulnerable he was, especially in the early days, and how lucky he was to be alive.

I hope it wasn't taking it too far, but to me, it seems plausible that something like this happened. He was an eleven year old on the streets; it was a miracle that something worse than this didn't happen!

Anyway, I hope it read okay, and that the characters, especially the teachers, seemed in character. I'm curious to hear your opinions on Snape, since he's usually such a dividing character in the fandom. And I wonder how you'd like to see Lupin in all of this. Would you like him to be one of Harry's weekly tutors, or something more? I'll take anything you have to say on board.

Until next time, thanks for reading!


	13. The Aftermath

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 12: The Aftermath**

* * *

Poppy Pomfrey gripped the folder tightly in her hands as she walked slowly towards the Headmaster's office, regret weighing down desperately on her heart.

She had spent her entire working life in the profession of medicine, and on top of that she had spent almost twenty years specifically as a school nurse, so it was not her first time coming across an injured and vulnerable child. But even putting aside the fact that this was Harry Potter of all children, something was different about this boy. She had never seen a case so severe...

Steeling herself for what she was about to do, Poppy softly said the password to the Headmaster's office and made her way slowly up the stairs, hoping to prologue the inevitable. This would be a difficult conversation for all concerned, and she only hoped that the faculty meeting with the child had gone well, or she feared this news would hit them all the harder for it.

It seemed, as she walked into the room, however, that the universe wouldn't grant her even that small concession. Sighing slightly, she turned her attention to the occupants of the room.

Slightly to the side of the wooden table in the centre of the room, Professors McGonagall, Sprout and Flitwick were all glaring at the Potion's Professor, with anger so clearly emanating from each one of them, that she was almost surprised that he didn't suddenly burst into flames. Professor Dumbledore simply looked on at the situation, disappointment clear on his aged face, mingled with something akin to sadness.

Minerva was breathing heavily, her hand clutched tightly around her wand as if she was having to physically restrain herself from cursing Severus Snape. Severus, for his part, was clutching a pale hand to his cheek, the hand-shaped pink mark beneath it clear. His eyes were wide, but it seemed more in shock than pain, so she tempered her medical instincts and moved her attention away. From the way the rest of the room was glaring at him, including the usually benevolent Professor Dumbledore, she could only assume he had deserved the slap, and that Minerva was acting admirably by restraining herself from further attacks.

"Have you got a moment, Albus?" Poppy asked tentatively, the icy atmosphere of the room almost oppressive. It couldn't be clearer to her that the meeting had gone terribly, and judging by the anger being directed at Severus, it was equally clear that the Potions Professor had had something to do with it. When no one spoke, she reluctantly continued. She had half a mind to turn around and reveal this news another time.

"Am I interrupting something?" she asked cautiously. Poppy sighed when she realised that she had no choice to reveal what she knew now, however difficult it would be. It wasn't about them; it was about a young boy who needed their help.

"Not at all, Poppy," Dumbledore said wearily, with not a trace of his usual sparkle. "We are quite finished here. Is that not correct, Severus? Minerva?"

"Yes, Albus," Minerva said icily as she continued to glare at the Potion's Professor.

"Of course, Headmaster," Snape reluctantly said, returning Minerva's glare with equal vigour.

Dumbledore didn't seem to be convinced by either one of them, but he simply sighed deeply and appeared to let it go, saying nothing more on the subject.

"Is there something I can help you with, Poppy," the Headmaster asked instead, his keen intelligent eyes immediately noting the thin folder she held in her hand.

"Before your...meeting," she began uncomfortably, thinking back to the icy atmosphere of the room when she had first entered it, "I had young Harry in the Hospital Wing for a check up."

Dumbledore nodded, having known about the arrangement, but it seemed to come as a surprise to the other Professors in the room, and Poppy couldn't help but wonder just how much the Headmaster had been keeping to himself.

"How is he, Poppy?" Minerva asked, concern clear in her eyes. Not for the first time, Poppy wondered what on earth had happened during the meeting to have them all so on edge.

"Not well, I'm afraid, Minerva," Poppy answered tiredly, as the memories from the check-up floated back to the front of her mind. "I've fixed what I could...physically, but he's got a long road ahead of him. The poor boy's been through a lot."

At their questioning expressions, she steeled herself to continue, taking a steady breath to help her keep her composure. It was vital that they all remained professional.

"He's malnourished, a condition he has apparently suffered from for most of his life," she began wearily. "He has...injuries...that Arthur Weasley suggested had occurred during a street fight not too days ago, but I found evidence of poorly healed cuts that were weeks, possible months old, as well as broken and sprained bones that _have _healed, but badly, and clearly without professional help."

"He's been beaten before..." Minerva whispered, as if she had just had her worse suspicions confirmed. Poppy wondered again what they already knew about Harry Potter's life.

"Numerous times," replied Poppy gravely, pushing aside the thought. "Arthur suspects that Harry has been living on the streets for some time now, and I'm afraid his condition _is_ consistent with that kind of life-style."

At this, Minerva, Filius and Pomona all turned to glare at the Potion's Professor, who for the first time in her memory seemed vaguely regretful.

"He has suffered then," Professor Dumbledore said softly, his eyes full of sorrow.

"Undoubtedly," Poppy replied gravely. "For over half his life at least, I would wager. He has scars across his entire chest, some several years old. He wouldn't talk about it, in fact he refused to talk at all, but it's clear he suffered severe abuse for a great deal of his childhood."

"He did, Poppy," Dumbledore replied regretfully. The Medi-Witch was not a member of the Order, so she didn't know about Harry's history at the Dursley household. The news had been kept secret on a need-to-know basis, but he realised that it was now unavoidable; she would need to be caught up with what they had been able to establish about Harry's life.

Before he could speak though, Minerva turned almost violently towards him. Anger seemed to rise up in her, and fury danced in her eyes as she swung around to look him.

"I TOLD YOU!"

"Minerva..."

Almost as if in slow motion, they watched as Minerva raised a hand and brought it sharply towards the old Headmaster.

SLAP!

"No Albus," she interrupted, uncaring as she watched Dumbledore bring an aged hand to his cheek, the pink mark still visible on his skin from Minerva's stinging slap. "I _told _you, they were no good! He should _never_ have been left there!"

"Minerva, calm down," soothed Poppy, moving over to the irate Witch to pull her gently away from the Headmaster. Once she was sure Minerva was sufficiently calm, Poppy turned back to Dumbledore, confusion clear in her expression. "Explain."

Shaken slightly, Dumbledore began to speak. "Two years ago, in the summer before he was due to start his first year, Harry Potter...ran away from home. He had been placed with his Aunt and Uncle after the murder of his parents...by me...and then spent the next ten years in their household. One day - for what specific reason, we still don't know - Harry left of his own accord, and disappeared without a trace."

Poppy's eyes widened as this news sunk in. She had always suspected that something was amiss with the boy's life, even more so when he failed to show up at Hogwarts as expected, but for the boy to have run away from home...

"There were rumours, but I never imagined..." she gasped.

"We couldn't let it get out," Minerva continued, shooting a half-glance towards the Headmaster. "People needed the reassurance that the Boy Who Lived was well cared for. Had the general public known that he was instead an abused little boy who had run away..."

"It would have been chaos," completed Poppy gravely, understanding dawning in her mind.

"We searched," Dumbledore said, his voice almost a whisper. "We searched for months, but we were simply too late. We went to the Dursley household, but found that the elder Dursleys had already been arrested by the Muggle police for child abuse, and young Harry had long since disappeared."

"Apparently, a teacher at his primary school had noticed his absence and had contacted the police," Minerva said with difficulty, her voice breaking slightly. "Even they were too late to save him. He had to save himself instead..."

"It is too late for regret now, Minerva," Dumbledore said, although his eyes seemed to belie his own words. "We have all failed Harry in the past, but we must not fail him again. What would you recommend, Poppy? How can we help Harry now? What does he need?"

"Truth be told, I'm not sure I'm the person to answer that," she replied quietly. "Given time, and care, his physical condition will improve dramatically, but that is not what I'm concerned about. He had clearly suffered from a number of traumatic experiences, and I doubt he has remained unaffected by them."

"You think he has developed psychological problems," Flitwick asked his tone graver than any of them had ever heard it.

"It's not so far-fetched," Poppy replied sadly, thinking back to the frail, timid boy she had examined only hours ago. "From what you tell me, it's clear that Harry has had to survive on his own from the moments his parents died twelve years ago. In that time, he has suffered more that any child should, and he has done so alone. Do not expect him to simply fit into society as easily as you hope."

"We just want to help," McGonagall said, surprised by Poppy's blunt tone.

"Then do not rush him," Poppy said unapologetically. She had a feeling that they all had expectations and she couldn't bear it if they based those expectations on false hope. "Do not push him. He may seem like he's handling everything well, but that could well be just a mask."

"He's definitely got fight in him," said Filius, glancing towards Snape, clearly recalling the way Harry had defended himself against the unfair attacks. "He's not weak."

"Then maybe all is not lost," Poppy said gravely. "But do not forget that he's still a vulnerable boy who has been alone for far too long. He was barely responsive when I spoke to him, but if what you say is true then he hasn't shut down completely. It's a good sign, but it's going to take time for him to feel comfortable among people again."

"What can we do?" Dumbledore asked intently, repeating his previous question.

Poppy sighed, but she knew she couldn't sugar coat her answer. "He's going to need more than some clothes of his own and a few square meals. He's going to need a lot of support. A lot of one-on-one help."

"It seems we are moving in the right direction then." Dumbledore sighed. "Harry will be receiving private tutoring, rather than joining Hogwarts immediately."

Poppy nodded her approval, but her expression soon turned serious.

"He will not be an easy student," Poppy warned. "Once he starts to feel more comfortable around you, it's likely that he'll start to push boundaries."

"What do you mean?" asked Sprout.

"He will test you," Poppy replied softly. "No doubt to see if you'll stick around at the first sign of trouble. He's been abandoned by every adult he knows. He'll be expecting you to leave him too..."

Minerva failed to suppress a sob as she brought a hand to her eyes to wipe absently at the tears that had begun to escape.

"Do not pity him," Poppy warned. She did not know Harry well, but that much she was sure about. "Pity will do him no good, and he'll hate it. He has been let down by too many people; the last thing he needs is for you to let yourselves become consumed by how sorry you all are. He's observant; he'll notice, and it'll likely mean he'll never trust you."

She turned and moved towards the door then, certain that she had made her point as best she could. She had seen a lot of vulnerable, abused children over the years, and they all had something in common. He needed to know that he wasn't alone, and he needed someone to care. Looking at the teachers in this room, their resolve to help the boy was clear. Now, only time would tell if that help had arrived in time.

They had a lot to think about, and a lot to discuss, and there was plenty of work for her to be getting on with in the Hospital Wing. She had almost reached the door when was stopped in her tracks as a voice compelled her to stop.

Turning around, she was about to ask what was wrong when she caught sight of Dumbledore, the pain clear in his eyes. She felt a small sense of dread rise within her when the Headmaster began speaking again, his tone unsure.

"Was there..." he began with difficulty. "Was there any sign of...sexual abuse."

"Sexual..." Poppy asked, her eyebrows rising slightly in surprise. "Why do you ask that?"

"Harry spoke a little about his early experiences after running away," Dumbledore answered gravely, glancing towards Severus with disappointment in his eyes. "It appears he narrowly avoided an encounter of that nature. Did he...?"

"He showed no signs of any sexual assault," Poppy confirmed sadly, but the sigh that followed highlighted the problems they still faced. It was little consolation, after all. Especially with everything else the child had apparently endured. Would they ever truly understand what Harry had been through? Would he ever trust them enough to tell them? Or would he bury it...?

"I believe he would benefit from having someone to talk to," Poppy suggested tentatively, as she passed over the folder in her hands for Dumbledore to look over in more detail. "Someone neutral, who is neither his teacher nor his guardian. I've already spoken to Arthur about this, and he agrees. As much as he wants to help the boy, he's admitted he feels a little out of his depth. Arthur mentioned that Harry's been suffering from mood swings since they found him on the streets. I believe it's a sign that he's bottling everything up instead of dealing with it. He needs a safe environment in order to deal with how he feels."

"You think Harry would benefit from some form of therapy? asked Minerva.

"I do," nodded Poppy, looking towards the Headmaster to make sure he had understood her words. He nodded in reply.

"It will be difficult considering his position," Dumbledore began, deep in thought. "Any wizard who speaks with him will no doubt be hampered by his fame, and yet using a Muggle is out of the question since Harry is now aware of our world. I will give it some careful thought, Poppy."

Each of them took this as their cue to leave. First out of the door was Severus Snape, who looked as if he couldn't bear to be in that office a second longer. The other three teachers followed him at a more sedate pace, but Poppy could see the strain in their shoulders, the pain in their eyes. Sighing softly, Poppy too left, her thoughts still on the damaged young boy. She could only hope they had found him in time.

It was only as they left, closing the office door softly behind themselves, that Albus Dumbledore allowed the tears to finally fall.

* * *

"Harry?" Arthur inquired gently, as he helped Harry off the floor of their living room floor. It seemed Harry still hadn't gotten used to travelling by Floo, but that was the least of his worries at the moment.

"I want...I want to be alone," Harry mumbled. "Please, l-leave me alone."

"Why don't you go on up to your room for a bit," Arthur suggested softly, looking towards Harry, not with pity, but with an expression of pain and regret so intense that Harry almost faltered under it. "I'll make sure Ron doesn't bother you."

Harry didn't say anything in reply, wasn't sure if he would ever say anything again. He just fled the room as quickly as his light feet would let him.

All excitement at going to a magic school had gone. Nothing would be different, he knew that now, and the realisation hit him with a painful crash. The teachers would hate him now, if they hadn't before, and the same freakish things would happen to him. He'd be an outcast. Even Ron would leave him once he realised what a freak he was, and Harry wouldn't blame him for a second.

_If I was him, I wouldn't want to hang around me either, _Harry thought desperately as he tried to hold back the tears that threatened to fall from his unwilling eyes_._ Shame rose up through him, and even the care and help shown to him by the Weasleys was not able to quell it.

Harry swung open the door to the dingy attic room that he shared with Ron, pulling his tired body through the threshold before slamming the door shut with much more force than he had intended, his emotions momentarily getting the better of him.

Growling in frustration as he tried desperately to contain the maelstrom of emotion battered at his mind, he threw himself on the bed. Harry grabbed the pillow with a shaking, pale hand, shoving it over his head in an attempt to drown out the mess he called a mind.

His eyes were clenched shut, so tightly that it was painful. He wanted to forget the memories that had been brought up by that stupid story. He wanted to forget the face that haunted his nightmares. He wanted to forget the other faces that hauntingly followed.

But he couldn't, and for once the emotions he had been containing up until now found their way out of him. The first sob was painful in his chest, but the dam was broken and the tears that had been waiting years to be freed leapt from his eyes now in rivers of sorrow. In the end, he gave up trying to stop them.

Harry cried. Great wracking sobs pulled at his chest, and he found himself struggling to take a breath as the fit continued. He couldn't stop it, and for a brief moment, he didn't want to. It felt oddly cathartic, in a way. No one was here, so did it really matter that he experienced this moment of weakness?

So he let it run its course, all the time praying that he would be left alone. Mr Weasley had said that he would make sure Ron would stay away, but could he even trust him? He had been there for him during the meeting, and had clearly not approved of the way Snape had treated him, but he had also heard the story. Surely he must see Harry as weak and pathetic now that he knew the truth of how stupid he'd been. Eveything that had happened; it was all his own fault...

Clenching his fists slightly, he had to stop himself from screaming out loud. It was all too much.

He needed to be out of his head. Thinking had suddenly become too difficult.

His thoughts were threatening to crush him with self doubt and hopelessness and he couldn't handle it. Not now. Not after everything that had happened in that last couple of days. Not since his life changed beyond all recognition.

His circumstances had changed, but the memories never would, and it was those desperate times that he wanted to escape now.

Swiping his hand behind his new glasses to dispel any tears that were still clinging to his face, Harry pulled himself wearily off the bed and desperately searched the room for his backpack, all whilst pressing his emotions forcefully into submission. Never had he been more glad that Mr Weasley had had the insight to rescue his stuff for him. It meant the world to him. At the moment, it was all he could be sure of.

He grabbed it from the corner where it lay and pulled it onto the bed. Searching quickly, he found what he was looking for.

_Lord of the Rings._

He settled back on the bed, allowing his body to sink wearily into the mattress as he carefully turned the first page. It was time for him to forget his own troubles for a while.

* * *

"Arthur?" Molly inquired gently as she quietly opened the door to her husband's shed. Clutter lined every inch of the small wooden building, trinkets that testified to Arthur's obsession with everything to do with the muggle world, but Molly only had eyes for her husband.

He was sat at his work station, holding in his hands a small rubber duck that Bill had somehow gotten hold of for him one Christmas. He fiddled with it absently, but Molly knew that his mind was elsewhere, focusing not on the muggle object, but on something much darker.

"Arthur, love, what are you doing in here?" Molly said gently as she walked over to rest her hand on his shoulder. "It's late. All the kids are in bed."

"How's Harry?" Arthur asked tiredly, completely avoiding her question as he wearily dragged his head up, his sad eyes meeting those of his wife.

"Asleep." Molly replied softly, looking towards her husband with some concern. Something was weighing heavily on his soul, and she almost dreaded finding out what it was. "Ron's agreed to sleep on the couch again. Harry seemed a bit distressed when he went up, so I thought it'd be best."

"You're probably right," Arthur agreed sadly. Having had the memories dragged out of him so forcibly that afternoon, Arthur had no doubt that Harry's sleep would be far from restful, and that he probably wouldn't want the embarrassment of having his friend witness to that.

"Harry's sleeping peacefully at the moment though," Molly continued, apparently having had the same train of thought as her husband. "He seems to have fallen asleep reading actually," She smiled at him. "Lord of the Rings was open on his lap."

"Ah," replied Arthur, a small smile finding its way onto his face as well at the reminder. His obsession with all things muggle had led him to discovering all manner of muggle wonders, but one of his most treasured memories was when he had come across their literature. His favourites had always been the Lord of the Rings trilogy, and he had even read them to all his kids when they'd been younger.

"Muggles have such a wonderful imagination," he murmured wistfully with a smile, as the memories went some way towards dissipating the darkness that was clouding his mind.

Molly, who had never quite understood his obsession with muggles, still smiled at the look of wonder and appreciation on his face, momentarily breaking up the intense sadness that had been there before.

"What are you doing out here, Arthur?" Molly asked cautiously. "The children have been wondering where you were."

"I...needed to think," Arthur answered. "I needed to clear my head."

"You and Harry both, I think," Molly suggested somewhat shrewdly. Since they had both come back from the meeting late that afternoon, both had all but demanded solitude, not just from each other, but from everyone else.

Arthur had at least joined the family for dinner, but his mind had clearly been elsewhere. Harry, though, had eaten in his room, obviously not ready to face the family after whatever had happened at Hogwarts. Arthur had spoken briefly to her about what had been decided with regards to Harry's education, but since that seemed to have been resolved, Molly was at a loss to determine what else could have possible gone wrong.

"I don't doubt that," Arthur said darkly, although it was clear to her that his anger was aimed, not at Harry, but at someone else.

"What's wrong Arthur," Molly asked. "Did something happen at the meeting that you've not told me? Harry's still going to get an education, isn't he? We are going to teach him?"

"Of course, Molly," Arthur answered. "Even if Dumbledore changed his mind, we'd still find a way to teach Harry what he needs to know. I have no intention of letting that boy down."

"What is it, then?" she asked, as a thrill of fear rose up within her.

"Just Severus Snape causing trouble," Arthur responded bitterly.

"Why Dumbledore allows him to teach, I'll never know," she added equally bitterly. She had heard quite enough from her children to know exactly what kind of teacher he was. And in her opinion, it was the kind who had no business being around children. "I've half a mind to go to Hogwarts to show that Severus Snape a piece of my mind!"

"Don't worry Molly," Arthur said soothingly, although a small amount of humour reached his eyes, momentarily breaking through the bitter thoughts. "Poppy fire-called earlier, whilst you were cooking dinner. She wanted to check on Harry because she'd gone to the Headmaster's office after the meeting had finished and some things had come to light. Anyway, apparently, after the meeting, Minerva took care of Snape for us. Slapped him right across the face. When Poppy told them about Harry's...condition...Minerva turned around to Dumbledore and slapped him too. Poppy thought she'd gone mad until they explained what was going on."

"What on earth caused her to act that way?" Molly asked, shocked. After all, Minerva McGonagall was not one to lose control on her emotions.

"He's been through too much Molly," Arthur said gravely, as he absently began to clear the clutter from his work surface, eager to keep himself busy and his hands moving.

"I know..."

"No you don't," Arthur interrupted bluntly. "You have no idea. None of us do."

"Tell me, Arthur," Molly asked gently, her brow furrowed in concern.

"Snape didn't believe Harry when he told them that he'd run away, nor that he'd been living in London by himself," Arthur began bitterly. "He confronted Harry, badgered him until he told us what had happened the night he left the Dursleys."

"He didn't!" Molly cried, realisation dawing in her eyes. "No wonder Harry's so upset. It must have a terrible thing to relive."

"It's worse than you could imagine, Molly," Arthur said gravely. "It turns out...Harry was...propositioned. The sick _bastard _wanted something in return for a lift to London!_"_

"Oh Merlin, no," whispered Molly, her eyes wide in horror.

"Harry didn't realise what was happening until the bastard stopped the car," Arthur told her, his eyes closed tightly as he fought not to imagine the how terrified that boy must have felt.

"Was he...?" She could say the words, but Arthur knew what she was asking.

"He says no," Arthur replied wearily as he rubbed a hand over his tired face. "But it could have happened Molly. He was so...vulnerable. Someone should have been there for that boy, Molly! Someone should have been there to protect him from creeps like that man!"

"We're there for him now Arthur," Molly said softly, taking her husband's hand in hers in a soft grip, a grip he returned as if his life depended on it. "We'll protect him."

"I'm not sure we'll be enough, Molly," Arthur told her, desolation clear in his expression.

"We have to be," Molly said firmly, and Arthur raised his eyes as he looked the certainty in her eyes. "You said it yourself, Arthur. We won't fail that boy."

"No," Arthur muttered firmly to himself, as he pulled himself off the stool and moved towards the door. "No, we won't fail him."

* * *

_NO! No, no, no, no, no..._

Harry jerked up in the bed, his mind still racing as he fought to chase the nightmare away. It's not real, he chanted to himself. It's not real.

He took a deep, steadying breath, his hands still gripped tightly to the bed sheet, but it seemed to take an age for the fog to clear from his mind. When he opened his eyes, it was dark, but he could still make out some of the features of the room he had slept in. Across from him was Ron's bed, empty for once. Familiar poster's covered the walls, and there, on the desk was Ron's rat, Scabbers. He was in the bedroom at the Weasleys that he shared with Ron. He was safe.

"Harry?" came a aoft voice from the doorway, and Harry flinched violently, his nerves already on edge from the nightmare. He turned, with a sense of foreboding, to face Mr Weasley.

"Y-Yes, Sir?" Harry replied shakily, as he fought to still his shuddering limbs. He didn't want to look any more weak in front of the man. He had done enough damage earlier today.

"Would you like some water? Or maybe milk?" the man asked gently, but there was no pity in his expression. He could see only sadness there, and Harry wondered whether he had called out in his sleep. Usually he was quiet during night terrors, but this one had been particularly traumatic...

Harry shook himself violently in an attempt to dispel the horrific memories that still haunted his cloudy mind.

"No..no thank you, Sir," Harry replied, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the bed sheets that covered him.

"Not Sir, Harry," Arthur said softly as he moved into the room, trying to ignore how Harry tensed at the action. "It's just Arthur. Remember?"

Harry nodded his head, but it was clear to Arthur that the boy had barely registered his words.

Harry was still shaking, and his thin face pale was dripping in sweat. As he watched the boy swipe shakily at the few tears that had escaped his eyes, it was clear to Arthur that the nightmare had not been anything less that traumatising.

Moving slowly, so as not to frighten him, Arthur moved quietly over to sit on Ron's empty bed. Green eyes watched his movement, wary but also slightly confused, and Arthur moved to explain.

"I was just off to bed when I heard you tossing and turning," Arthur told him quietly. "I was about to wake you up, when...you did it yourself. Nightmare?"

Harry jerkily nodded his head, but his gaze fell back to his sheets.

"Sorry," Harry muttered. "I...I didn't mean to bother you."

"It's not your fault Harry," Arthur said softly, and it was clear to Harry that he was talking about more than the nightmare. "It was never your fault. Something you need to remember."

They were quiet for a moment, then, as Harry visibly tried to gather himself together. After a few minutes, the shaking subsided slightly, and he gained a bit more colour in his cheeks. Eventually, Harry broke the silence.

"Y-You don't have to stay," Harry stammered cautiously. "I'm...fine."

"Would you like me to stay?" Arthur asked tentatively, unsure of what Harry wanted. If it had been one of his own children, he knew they would have felt more comfortable with him staying until they fell back asleep, but Harry had been through much more than his children ever had, so there was no telling how he would react. Arthur felt he had to try though.

"You're safe here, Harry," he said quietly, but his tone was firm.

Harry looked up when he heard those words, desperate to see the truth in the man's face. There was no anger or annoyance in Mr Weasley's expression, and he certainly didn't seem like a threat; when he looked at the man, there was just a sense of desolate understanding and sad certainty coming from him.

Harry didn't want to admit it, but the answer was yes. He had always dealt with his nightmares on his own, but for once, he didn't want to. For once, he just wanted a little comfort that everything was okay, and that he was safe now.

Arthur knew from the look on the boy's face that he didn't want him to leave, and he felt an odd sense of relief flood through him at the thought.

"I'll stay as long as you want me too," Arthur said gently as he settled more comfortably on Ron's bed. "Now why don't you try to go back to sleep, hmm? I'll be right here, I promise."

"I don't want to keep you..." Harry began unsurely.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Arthur assured him. "I've always been something of a night-owl. I tend to read a bit before I go to sleep anyway. Perhaps you wouldn't mind if I borrowed your book? I've read it before, but it's been years..."

"You've read Lord of the Rings?" Harry asked quietly, his eye brows rising in surprise. "Don't you read...you know...books written by Wizards or something?"

"Of course, though I still have a certain fondness for this particular story." Arthur fondled the worn cover of the book with reverence.

"It's my favourite," admitted Harry tentatively. "I...I used to pretend I was on an adventure, like Frodo. It made things...easier for a while."

"It's a favourite of mine too," Arthur said gently. He didn't want to push Harry to talk more, especially after what had happened eariler, so instead he settled for offering the boy a small smile.

"Really?" asked Harry with a small smile of his own.

Arthur nodded. "Although I've come across so many wonderful Muggle stories that it's not an easy choice. Muggles had such a wonderful way of looking at magic, don't you think? It's simply fascinating."

Arthur smiled as he watched Harry's eyes droop slightly. It seemed that exhaustion was creeping up on the boy, despite his efforts to keep it at bay.

"Why," Arthur continued quietly, "Once I came across a story about young girl called Dorothy, who somehow ended up in this place called Oz. Now you might think that the witches in the story would be a bit far-fetched, since it was written by a Muggle, but, knowing some of the people I do, it's not too far from the truth..."

Harry allowed his eyes to close as the words flowed over him.

"Anyway... this girl," Arthur continued, softening his voice even more once Harry's eyes had shut, "She meets a Lion, a tin man, and a scarecrow, of all things, and they all go off on an adventure to find the Wizard. Of course, they get into a spot of bother along the way...

Harry's breathing deepened as Mr Weasley's voice both relaxed him and reassured him at the same time. He focused on Mr Weasley's calm words as he told the story, pushing aside the remnants of the nightmare, as he allowed a magical fantasy to lull him to sleep for the second time that night.

* * *

Arthur smiled as he watched Harry's breathing deepen and his eyes close. It had been another exhausting day, and Arthur was relieved to see him finally at rest. Looking at the boy now, it was hard to see him as the street boy they had found only days ago. He looked so young in sleep; so innocent, and it made Arthur's heart ache in a way it hadn't in years.

He cared so deeply for Harry, as if he was one of his own flesh and blood. Harry wasn't just some street waif that they had decided to help out of some act of charity or because they felt sorry for the boy. He was a sensitive young child, who had been on his own far too long, and who had been through things that would have driven grown men to depression.

Despite all the horrors he had experienced though, Harry had a glimmer of something within him, something that couldn't be crushed, no matter how many bad things happened to him. It was a cautious hope, a belief that as hard as life was now for the lad; he wanted more. He couldn't or wouldn't give up, and Arthur found himself amazed at the thought. Harry had earned his respect, almost from their first meeting, and in all their subsequent conversations, nothing had changed.

Arthur couldn't be more proud of him.

At numerous times, Harry had demonstrated his courage, achieving things that, whilst not that big of deal for those who had a safe, normal childhood, were huge, terrifying steps for a boy who had spent his life being ignored, abused and neglected. Had he been in the same position, Arthur wasn't sure he would have dealt with things half as well as Harry had.

At the same time though, it was clear that everything was overwhelming for the boy. His self-esteem seemed almost non-existent, making Harry unnaturally quiet, overly polite, and timid at best. He clearly didn't know how he was expected to act, or indeed react, when they did something in his interests.

Harry was a walking contradiction.

All in all, Harry was indeed still an enigma, and judging by the story he had told about his first night on the streets, there were still many horrors in his past that he would have to overcome before he could even experience a small semblance of happiness. There was a long way to go before Harry could be the happy young boy that Arthur wanted him to be.

The medical report Madame Pomfrey had give him that afternoon told a story of abuse, pain, of hard days spent alone on the streets, struggling to survive each day. Scars littered the boy's skin, a testament to the fact that he had had no one to protect him from the crueller side of life.

And yet he was not broken. He had been damaged, yes, but never broken.

He was still fighting, and Arthur would be damned if he let that boy fight alone any more.

"I won't fail you," he whispered as left Harry to sleep, closing the door softly behind himself. "I won't fail you."

* * *

A/N- Hmm, firstly, sorry for the longer than usual wait for an update. I've been in London (my boyfriend lives there) and I didn't have my laptop with me so I couldn't write, let alone post anything. When I finally got home, I had some medical issues that meant writing was the furthest thing from my mind. All in all, not a good end to the week, but that's cleared up now though, and I'm back to the story with a vengeance.

This chapter is quite emotional and angsty, and I'm sorry if people are becoming a little bored of that. In all honesty, it was never supposed to be like that when I first planned it, but that's just how it turned out. I hope it's okay?

Anyway, do let me know what you think about this chapter. It took a lot of work to get it how I wanted in the end, and I'd love to hear whether you think the effort was worth it or not.

It's 2.30 am in the UK at the moment, so I'm a bit tired, but I decided to post this regardless. It's entirely possible that there are a few errors in this chapter (let me know if you find any), but honestly I just really wanted to get a new chapter out there! Hope you like it (it's the longest chapter so far!) and thanks for reading!


	14. A Sympathetic Ear

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 13: A Sympathetic Ear**

* * *

"Where are the kids?" Arthur asked wearily as he sat down at the kitchen table, the small flickering candle at its centre doing nothing but extenuating the lines of worry on his face. It was late and the house was quiet; the only noise was made by Molly as she put the kettle on the stove, her actions automatic by this point in their marriage. Arthur had been at work for most of the evening, trying to deal with an emergency raid involving Mundungus Fletcher, and now he wanted nothing more a cup of tea and his bed.

"They're all asleep," Molly replied softly as she bustled around the kitchen for two mugs.

"And Harry?" Arthur asked with concern, his eyes fixed on the flickering flame. After the meeting at Hogwarts, the floodgates appeared to have opened in Harry's mind, and nightmares were now a common occurrence for the young boy. Although he rarely woke anyone else up, it was clear that Harry was struggling to get any restful sleep at all.

"Same," Molly replied, and Arthur let at deep sigh leave his lips at the answer.

Since the meeting that had taken place at Hogwarts between Harry and the Hogwarts staff, Harry had been more withdrawn, quiet and nervous than he had been even in the first two days he had been at their home. He barely spoke now, although sometimes Molly and Arthur could see Ron and Harry speaking quietly together in some corner of the Burrow where they wouldn't be disturbed. At least, it seemed, Ron had noticed that Harry appeared to be troubled too, although in all honesty he seemed to be having as little luck as the rest of them in drawing the boy back from wherever his mind had taken him.

Harry still joined them for meals, although he still ate much less than the rest of them. He played chess with Ron and he even went outside with the children to play by the river a couple of times, but in each of these activities, regardless of how much everyone tried to include him, it was as if his mind was elsewhere.

Arthur, who had had more luck than any of them in getting Harry to talk, had tried drawing the young boy into conversation, but so far it had been a largely futile endeavour. Harry was polite, overly so most of the time, but in the end he almost always vehemently refused to say another word. Something was clearly bothering him, something triggered by the meeting at the school, but for the life of him, Arthur didn't know what it was.

"What can we do, Molly?" Arthur asked somewhat desperately as she placed a mug of steaming hot tea in front of him. "How can we help him, if he won't talk to us?"

Molly sighed. "I'm sure there's anything we _can _do," she said softly as she joined her husband at the table. "He's been through a lot, Arthur. It's going to take some time to settle in."

"He's been with us a week now," Arthur pointed out. "At first, he was scared...that was understandable though. But now...I'm worried Molly. He's obviously bothered by something, but how can we help him deal with it if he won't tell us what's wrong?"

"He's not used to having people to rely on," Molly said gravely. "It's going to take time for him to realise that he's not on his own anymore."

"But something's clearly bothering him now, Molly," Arthur said gravely as he took a deep swig of the calming hot liquid.

"Well," Molly began, brow furrowed in thought. "Didn't you say that Albus was going to try and find Harry a therapist?"

"Poppy did suggest that talking to someone neutral would help him," Arthur nodded. "I'm not sure Albus has had any luck though. It's difficult. Harry can't talk to anyone in the Wizarding World because quite frankly we can't risk anyone else knowing that he's been found just yet. And he can't talk to a muggle because with everything that he's just discovered about our world, he'll need to talk about it."

"Albus, for all his faults..." Molly began, but she paused as she tried to push past her anger for the mistakes Dumbledore had clearly made towards Harry. She still hadn't forgiven the old man for leaving Harry at the Dursleys in the first place. "For all his faults, Albus is an intelligent man. If anyone can find someone to help Harry, he can."

"I might nip round to his office tomorrow morning," Arthur mused as he drained the last of his tea. "To see if he's had any luck."

"That's a good idea, dear," Molly said as she pulled herself wearily up from the table. "It's painfully clear that Harry needs someone to talk to, and at the moment...well, we're simply not enough."

Tears began to pool at the corners of her eyes but she pushed them away, desperate not to give up on the boy just yet. She wanted to help him, but she that the important thing was that they did what was best for Harry, not her.

"Come on, then, Molly Wobbles," Arthur said softly as he slipped his hand into his wife's and pulled her gently towards the door. "Bed time, I think. We can check on the kids on our way up."

On their way out, Arthur bent over and blew out the candle, leaving behind only a wisp of grey smoke. As darkness came upon them, they silently made their way out of the kitchen and up the stairs, tiredness clear in their weary bodies as they slowly pulled themselves to bed.

Neither of them noticed the black-haired boy as he silently crept ahead of them in the darkness, quietly making his way back to the room that he shared with their son.

* * *

Hogsmede was quiet that evening.

Arthur and Harry walked quietly down the deserted side street, the cool evening wind buffeting against their clothes as they made their way over to the old, dodgy looking pub that sat slightly off the beaten track.

This was Harry's first experience of a Wizarding village, so he couldn't help but be curious to see how it was different to the streets of London he knew so well, but he showed no excitement on his face. Nerves gripped at his stomach but he pushed them away angrily. Ever since that disastrous meeting at the school, Harry had vowed to become stronger and harder.

He didn't want to feel weak anymore.

He knew the Weasleys had been somewhat alarmed by his recent behaviour, Ron in particular, but he also knew it was necessary, and he forced himself to ignore the niggling feeling that he was doing the wrong thing.

Almost like a mantra, he told himself, convinced himself, that he couldn't let himself get attached to the family. Not now. They were kind to him, kinder than anyone had ever been, and he knew that they would not let him down, and yet they had a way of undoing him so emotionally, that he couldn't help but feel like a helpless little boy. The same helpless little boy who had almost met his end on that first night on the streets...

He stayed at their house, simply because he couldn't bear to leave the comfort he found there, no matter how much he tried not to get attached to it, but he couldn't talk or engage with them, for fear that his resolve would break. He couldn't let himself care anymore. Caring was weakness, and he wouldn't and couldn't be that naive little boy anymore. He knew that he was safe with the Weasleys, but that wasn't the problem, not really. He just didn't want to let go of the independent street boy, who had survived for years on his own. He clung to it now, almost to remind himself that, although the nightmares still haunted him nightly, he _had _survived.

It was scary to think that he was changing; that that part of himself was being lost somewhere amongst the kindness and caring and family life. He feared that he was beginning to revert back to that little boy again, that naive child who had run away with no real idea of what he was about to face. He was as unknowing in this new world, exactly as he had been all those years ago; he knew nothing of the magical world, just as he had known nothing about life on the streets. And the thought terrified him.

He couldn't let it happen, he told himself fiercely. He couldn't let himself become weak.

Harry dragged himself out of his thoughts, his back slightly more straightened as he pulled his head up to look at his surroundings. They had arrived at the pub – a place called the Hog's Head. Oddly, it reminded Harry of _his _pub a bit. This one was clearly still open, and the windows had not been boarded up, but the place had the air of abandonment about it.

As they walked through the threshold, Harry's opinion didn't change. The place looked haggard, with worn out chairs and tables, dirty looking walls and a broken sign. The floor looked as if it was made of earth and grime, and until Harry stepped on it, he could've believed that there was no floor at all.

Of course, that was nothing compared to the owner.

Harry had to bite back a gasp of surprise when he found himself looking into the eyes of an old man, grey hair running wildly off his head, the colour matching that of his long, scruffy beard. Blue eyes, hidden behind grimy glasses, met green and Harry found himself struck oddly by déjà-vu, as if he had seen this man before.

But that was impossible, Harry reminded himself, shaking his head. Harry had a thing for faces, and he was certain he had never met this man before.

"Arthur," the man greeted gruffly, and Harry noticed the warmth in his voice, a warmth Harry had not expected to hear. "I was about to close up. What can I do for you?"

"Albus didn't tell you..." Arthur said uncertainly, as he glanced apprehensively over to Harry. That did little to calm the nerves of the black haired boy. All Mr Weasley had told him was that they were going to meet 'someone' today. The rest of the Weasley brood had stayed at home, so Harry thought in reality this meeting was probably something to do with the conversation he had overheard the other night. He couldn't work out, though, how this dingy looking pub and this strange old man fit into those plans.

"Come to think of it, he did mention something," the old man replied, his gaze moving towards the boy standing stock still behind Mr Weasley. "Is this him, then?"

"Erm, yes," Arthur said, slightly put off by the old man's rather abrupt attitude. "This is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Aberforth."

"Nice to meet you, lad," Aberforth said with a nod. Harry nodded back, but he didn't say anything in return. Despite his time at the Weasleys, he still wasn't completely comfortable around strangers. Harry moved closer to Mr Weasley, his actions subconscious, as Aberforth moved closer to the pair of them.

"I see what Albus meant," Aberforth muttered quietly, as he seemed to inspect Harry with those light blue eyes. Harry stood his ground at the scrutiny, his resolve about being strong still clear in his mind, but he couldn't help but glance around the room for a quick exit if necessary. It was a habit he had apparently been unable to shake as of yet.

Aberforth shook himself. "So what can I do for you, tonight?" he asked, turning his attention back to his two guests.

"Could I have a private word with you, Abe?" Mr Weasley asked nervously, nodding over to the corner of the room. Aberforth glanced between the two of them, but then seemed to come to a decision and nodded in agreement.

Harry watched their conversation with no small amount of curiosity. It was obvious they were talking about him, and Harry felt anger rise up in his chest at the thought. He had had enough of people making decisions for him. He had been living on his own for two years, and as hard as it had been, he had at least been free. He didn't want to give that up for anything. With his oath to be strong still ringing through his mind, Harry spoke up, careful to keep his voice sure.

"I...I know why I'm here," Harry called, and the two men turned immediately to face him.

"What do you mean, Harry?" asked Mr Weasley, walking over to him with no small amount of concern.

"You think...I'm - I'm crazy," Harry choked out, desperate not to let the betrayal he felt show on his face.

"Harry, that's not – "

"He's," Harry interrupted, jerkily nodding his head towards Aberforth, "some sort of therapist. You want me to spill all my past...as if...as if that would help..."

Harry clenched his eyes shut, trying desperately to hold back the tide of emotion that was threatening to pour out of him. Nightmares had haunted him all week, but apart from that first night, when Arthur Weasley had comforted him enough to fall back to sleep, he suffered through them alone. Exhaustion ravaged his mind and body, but still he suffered alone, resolving to be strong. He didn't need help.

"I'm no therapist, lad," Aberforth scoffed. "I'm a pub landlord."

"Look, I'm not...an idiot," Harry ground out, ignoring Aberforth as he turned back to Mr Weasley. "I...I overheard you and Mrs Weasley talking to each other the other night. You can't...deal with me anymore, so you're trying to pawn me off on someone else..."

Harry clenched his eyes shut, desperately trying to push back the doubt that clouded his mind. He was so confused, and had been since the day he had left Hogwarts after the meeting. He just couldn't work out why they cared, or why they wanted him to still around. Mr Weasley had heard his story, had no doubt told his family all about it, and yet no one treated him any differently. But he _was _different, and his mind screamed at him that they would soon realise that he didn't fit in with their lives and would ask him to leave...

When he had overheard their conversation, all his fears about abandonment seemed to have been confirmed and solidified into something real, and he hated the hurt that it caused within him. He should be stronger than this, he told himself fiercely.

"Harry, that's not –"

"Arthur, why don't you give me and Harry here some time to talk?" Aberforth interrupted gruffly, giving Arthur a meaningful nod towards the door of the pub. "In fact, could you do me a favour and give Albus a message from me?"

Mr Weasley nodded, although he looked warily over to Harry as though he was reluctant to leave him alone. This only served to confuse the young boy even more.

Quickly, the old man jotted a short note onto a dirty looking piece of parchment before folding it up and giving it to Mr Weasley. The patriarch then turned and began to make his way towards the door.

"Wait..." Harry said, almost against his will. However much he was angry with Mr Weasley for bringing him without even discussing it with him, he still didn't want to man to leave. Being alone with people, particularly adults, was an issue that hadn't gone away during the duration of his stay with the Weasleys. Even more scary was the prospect that he would be made to talk about his life; the meeting at Hogwarts had been bad enough, and Harry would do anything to avoid a repeat of that.

"I'm sorry," Mr Weasley said, and it seemed to Harry as if he was genuinely regretful. "This is...for your own good. Please, just give this a chance. You say you overheard us?"

Harry nodded in answer.

"Then you know that we're only worried about you," Mr Weasley continued sadly. "Talking might help, and there's no one better at listening than Aberforth. You'll be safe here, I promise, and I'll be just a Floo away if you need me. For any reason at all, Harry."

Harry nodded jerkily, but he turned away from Mr Weasley as he took a deep shaky breath. His head was in two minds. On the one hand, trust had always come to him hard, but the week he had spent at the Weasleys had taught him that if there was anyone who he _could _trust, it was the Weasleys. They were the first people in his memory who had actually shown any interest in him and in what he wanted, and he wasn't quite ready to let that go just yet.

He could handle this.

"O-Okay," Harry choked out before he changed his mind. Arthur left, his movements clearly reluctant, but soon Harry and the old man were alone in the grotty pub. Harry stood nervously by the door, wariness clear in his stance as he kept his eyes fixed on the other man.

"I told Albus you'd catch on quick enough," Aberforth sighed, but if Harry wasn't mistaken, there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Albus...as in Dumbledore," Harry asked, trying to keep the bitterness he felt from being seen by this stranger. Emotions were weakness, he reminded himself. Instead he kept his feature cold and stony. Aberforth frowned, but he didn't comment on Harry's obvious anger with the man. "Why would he have anything to do with me being here?"

"He's my brother," Aberforth stated bluntly, looking towards Harry as if to challenge him to refute the statement.

"I thought...Your eyes- they're the same," Harry said quietly, his own green eyes rising to meet the blue ones that belonged to both the Dumbledore brothers.

"You're observant, aren't you boy," Aberforth said, shooting Harry a considering look. "Albus always did underestimate people..."

Harry didn't know how to reply to that one, so he stayed quiet, choosing instead to observe the man in front of him as he made his way behind the bar.

"To answer your question," Aberforth continued, as he started to wash some of the glasses by hand. "You're here to talk with me. My _brother, _in his infinite wisdom, seems to think it might do you some good. Apparently your new guardians agree."

"Why...you though?" Harry stuttered as the overwhelming need to leave rose up in him. He didn't want to talk about his past. He didn't even want to think about that.

"I'm not doing it as a favour to him, if that's what you're asking?" Aberforth said shrewdly.

"But..."

"I'm talking to you because I want to," Aberforth said as he bustled about behind the bar. Harry stayed on the other side, where he could better escape if needs be. "You need someone to talk to who won't judge you on what you have to say. I'm a barkeep, lad. I spend my days listen to people tell me their darkest secrets, and I never say a word to anyone else. I just listen, and you know, it helps I reckon. It's good to have someone to talk to every now and then, don't you think?"

The words barely registered as the anger built and Harry clung to it, eager to replace the doubt that still haunted his mind with something much more tangible.

"I don't believe you," Harry snapped angrily, before Aberforth could reply. "Spying on me for him, are you? Well you can tell him to piss off, because I'm...I'm not telling him a thing -"

"And there, I thought you were smart boy," Aberforth sighed, apparently unsurprised by Harry's outburst. "If I was spying, why would I start by telling you what I was doing?"

"Oh," flushed Harry, his gaze dropping to his feet once again. The anger left as suddenly as it had come, leaving only confusion in its wake. "Well then, why...why did no one just tell me? Why keep it a secret?"

"Would you have come, if you'd known you were coming here to talk things out?" Aberforth asked in reply.

Harry didn't answer out loud, but his silence was answer enough. Aberforth nodded to himself, before he began to speak once more.

"From what I've heard, you've had to look after yourself," Aberforth continued. "Somehow, I don't think, given time to think about it, that you'd agree to do anything you didn't want to."

Harry didn't reply. "Why...you then? Why not...someone else?" he asked instead.

The old man shrugged. "It what I'm good at, I suppose. I'm a bartender. People talk, I listen."

"But I...I don't want to talk," Harry insisted desperately. "I don't _need _to talk. There's nothing to talk about."

"There's always something to talk about," Aberforth said gruffly, "But I'm not going to make you. I'm not my brother."

"O-Okay," Harry said nervously, thrown slightly by the admission.

"Come on," Aberforth said, gesturing Harry to move away from the doorway. "Since you'll likely be here for a bit, do you mind if you help me clear up the place? I was shutting for the day anyway."

"Erm...okay," Harry agreed. Immediately he began to collect up the empty glasses he could see before taking them over to the bar.

"Arthur mentioned you ran into a bit of trouble in a meeting up at the school," Aberforth began casually as he picked started to pick up the stools and put them on top of the tables.

Harry didn't answer, choosing instead to simply shrug as he continued to carry empty glasses back to the bar. If Aberforth wasn't going to make him talk, then he'd just stay quiet.

"He said that Snape was being his usually bastardly self," Aberforth continued casually, raising his eyebrow at Harry's silence. "Would he be right?"

"How would I know?" Harry said quietly, his head bowed down. "I've only met him once."

"Yet he still doesn't like you, it seems?" Aberforth prodded gently.

Harry shrugged again, as he brought the glasses carefully over to the bar.

"That doesn't surprise you?" Aberforth asked with a frown, noting Harry's unconcerned attitude.

"Loads of people don't like me..." Harry mumbled.

"Well you seem alright to me, lad," Aberforth said, giving Harry an odd appraising look, that Harry did his best not to quail under. "Yeah, I reckon I like you. You remind me of me when I was younger."

Harry almost smiled, but managed to stop himself before he did. He had to stay strong, and staying emotionless was a big part of that. Letting his emotions get the better of him was a pathetic, childish response, one that he should have crushed a long time ago.

A faint whistling interrupted his thoughts, and Harry turned to face the source of the noise, confused for the moment by the cheerful tune that seemed so out of place in the grotty pub that smelled faintly of some sort of farmyard animal.

It was Aberforth, whistling as he went about his cleanup work, apparently having already forgotten he had company.

Harry looked, really looked at the older man now, watching as he began to tidy up behind the bar. His movements were stiff, an effect of his age no doubt, but he moved with a sureness that most people didn't possess. He was confident, not in an extrovert way, but in a way that suggested that he was completely comfortable in his own person. He had the attitude of a person who simply didn't care what other people thought about him.

Harry couldn't help but be jealous of the man for that. He had never felt more uncertain in his life. Everything he had known, everything he had worked so hard for, had now gone, no longer useful in his new life. But at the moment, he didn't know what to replace it with.

Harry took another handful of glasses over to the bar, glancing up at the old man whilst he did so. There was something else about him, Harry realised. Something that his brother definitely did not possess. There was something about Aberforth that made him almost...trustworthy. He had an air about him that gave off the feeling that no matter what you said, no matter what you admitted, he wouldn't judge you for it.

Maybe it was because he had lived, really lived, and probably knew the way of the world better than most. That was the impression Harry got of him, anyway. Maybe it was his age, but Harry didn't feel as threatened being alone with the man as he had perhaps expected he would.

Thinking about it more, Harry realised what it was. Aberforth, despite his age, reminded Harry of himself. Tired, world-weary and worn down, but accepting. As if he knew the world was a bad place, but had not yet given up on it. He even lived in an old pub, and Harry, despite himself, found that he could almost begin to trust the man. Because he had seen life at its worst. Looking into those blue eyes, so similar to his brothers and yet so different at the same time, Harry knew that the man had a few horror stories of his own.

Maybe Aberforth could understand.

"He tried to make me go to Hogwarts," Harry admitted quietly, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. He had never voluntarily opened up before, and it was harder than he's ever imagined it would be. "Dumbledore, I mean. But I didn't want to go. I wanted...to stay where I was."

"And you told him so, I assume," Aberforth commented, his tone carefully neutral.

Harry nodded warily, but to his surprise Aberforth just chuckled.

"Oh, we're going to get on just fine, you and me," he said with a laugh.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Don't...don't you like him? He's your brother..."

"And Petunia was your Aunt, but that doesn't mean much now, does it?"

Harry flinched slightly, but Aberforth moved an aged hand across the bar to reach for Harry's chin, gently coaxing the young boy to raise his eyes. Harry restrained the urge to run at the contact, but it was a close thing.

"There's more to family than blood, lad," Aberforth said with a sad smile. "Me and Albus...let's just say we never really saw eye to eye."

"What did he do?" Harry asked quietly, sensing that there was more to the story than Aberforth was telling him. He was curious, and he figured, if he was supposed to spill his guts to a stranger, the least he could do was get to ask questions himself.

"Something I still haven't forgiven him for," Aberforth said gravely, and Harry almost flinched at the anger that was barely being restrained behind those bright blue eyes. Harry knew he'd been right in his assessment of the old man. He definitely had some bad memories of his own. Harry was dragged away from these thoughts, however, when Aberforth began to speak again.

"Neither of us are blameless though," Aberforth continued gruffly. "You notice how Albus' nose is all crooked?"

Harry nodded, a little unsurely.

"Well," continued Aberforth, motioning for Harry to sit at one of the bar stools while he continued to work behind the bar. "I broke it. Punched him right in the face. It was at a funeral as well."

Harry frowned, but remained silent. Aberforth, lost in thoughts, didn't seem to care about a response anyway.

Aberforth grimaced slightly. "Reckon I shouldn't have done that."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. Questions pushed at his mind, but he got the feeling that they wouldn't be welcome at this point. Aberforth seemed lost in his memories, so Harry fiddled with a loose thread on his jumper, at a loss of what to say or do.

"So, tell me about yourself, lad?" Aberforth asked suddenly, and Harry's head darted up at the unexpected question.

"I don't..." Harry said, trailing off when the words failed him. He had no idea what the old man wanted him to say.

"Come on," coaxed Aberforth gently. "I want to get to know you if we're going to be having these chats every so often. What's your favourite thing to do?"

Harry paused for a moment, thinking hard. "I like reading," he answered eventually.

"Reading, huh?" Aberforth replied gruffly, but Harry knew that he wasn't judging him for it. "I was never much of a reader myself. Albus was the book-smart one of the family."

"Well what's your favourite thing to do then?" Harry said boldly, although his heart beat rather loudly in his chest.

"Me?" Aberforth said with a slight hint of pride in his eyes at the small show of confidence from Harry. "I like goats."

"Goats?"

"Yes, goats," Aberforth replied gruffly. "You know, as in the animal."

"I know what goats are," Harry said with frown. "I just meant...well, what do you do with them?"

"I look after them," Aberforth replied shortly, but Harry noticed a small smile playing on the older man's face, the first time he had seen such an expression there in the entirety of their meeting. "As if they were my own children."

"Don't you...you know...have any kids then?" Harry asked, curiosity overcoming fear for the moment.

"Me?" Aberforth scoffed, although there was no malice in his voice. "Nah. Never found the right lady friend, I'm afraid."

"Oh," Harry said. He had no idea how to get out of this awkward situation now that he had gotten himself into it. He couldn't help but be reminded of yet another similarity between himself and the old man though; they were both alone, really.

"It's a bit lonely being on my own, but I get by. I reckon you know something about that?" Aberforth asked shrewdly, although his attention was fixed on the glass he was trying to clean. Somehow this made it easier for Harry to answer.

"Yeah...Being on your own is hard..." Harry mumbled, but there was no doubt that Aberforth had heard him.

"You're not on your own any more though, are you?" Aberforth pointed out.

"I'm staying at the Weasleys house at the moment," Harry replied quietly as he got up from the stool he had been perched on and walked over to a nearby table to collect more dirty glasses.

"At the moment?" Aberforth prodded.

"I don't think I'll ever fit in there," Harry admitted quietly. He kept his gaze down, his heart beating madly as he tried not to panic. These were his deepest darkest fears, and he almost couldn't believe that he was admitting them to an almost complete stranger. He had to admit though, letting the words out, verbalising them, was actually helping.

"Haven't they included you?" Aberforth asked with a grunt of understanding.

"Yeah, but...I'm just a stupid misfit," Harry said bitterly, shame building to the point where he had to look away from the older man, scared that he would just have his fears confirmed. "An orphan street kid – "

"Not anymore," Aberforth interrupted with a frown. When Harry looked to speak up again, Aberforth quickly intervened. "You've been adopted, have you not?"

"Only temporarily," Harry answered, a faint sense of longing in his eyes.

"It doesn't seem temporary to me," Aberforth disagreed with a frown, nodding absently towards the door where Mr Weasley had left him.

"They say I can stay as long as I like," Harry began tentatively, his eyes fixed on his own hands as he wringed them nervously. "But..."

"But?" Aberforth prodded gently.

"But what happens when they get sick of me?" Harry mumbled, his head lowering in shame. He hated feeling like this; he hated doubting the Weasleys when they had been nothing but kind to him, but experience had taught him that nothing good came easy in life.

"What makes you think they'll get sick of you?" Aberforth asked with a frown.

"They've only known me for a week," Harry muttered, talking to his hands. It was easier to keep his gaze down than to admit it to Aberforth's face. "Eventually they'll see that I'm too much trouble."

"You don't know them very well yet, do you?" Aberforth said abruptly, and to Harry's surprise the older man let out a gruff laugh before explaining. "That family doesn't know the meaning of too much trouble."

"What...what do you mean?" Harry asked unsurely.

"Well their eldest I know for a fact works as a curse breaker in Egypt, or somewhere like that," Aberforth began, his brow furrowed in thought. "Their second eldest works with dragons..."

Upon seeing Harry's face at this little gem of information, Aberforth let out another hearty laugh.

"Now let me see," Aberforth continued, deliberately choosing not to explain the concept of dragons. "I'm not sure about the middle boy, but those twins create more trouble up at the school than the rest of them combined, I reckon. And the youngest two aren't much better. I've even heard rumours of fights with trolls, but I'm not sure how true they are. The amount of times I've had Arthur in here, though, complaining about some dangerous stunt one of his children pulled..." He looked at Harry with a grin on his face. "Well, if I'd had a galleon every time it'd happened, I'd be able to buy myself a nicer pub."

Harry felt a smile tugging at his lips despite himself, and for once he didn't bother to hide it.

"Molly and Arthur Weasley aren't the type to give up over a bit of trouble," Aberforth concluded.

And with that thought, Harry felt the brick wall he had erected in his head fall, as effectively as if it had never been there in the first place.

"I don't know how to act like them," Harry said desperately, gulping deeply in his effort to hold back the sob that was fighting to escape him. "I can't be...normal."

"Then don't be," Aberforth said simply, before shrugging unconcernedly. "Normal's overrated anyway. Be yourself. Nothing more, nothing less. I reckon they like you just the way you are, anyhow. All they seem to want if for you to be happy."

"I don't know how to be," Harry choked out.

"I'll take time, lad," Aberforth said gruffly, but with such strength of feeling that Harry jerked his head up to meet the eyes of the old man.

Sensing that there was still some doubt in the boy's mind, Aberforth began to speak once more.

"You are not 'just an orphan street kid' anymore than I'm just a barman, Harry," Aberforth said, his gruff voice softened considerably as he looked towards the vulnerable young boy. "We are what we choose to be. I reckon when you're ready to be part of a family, there's a group of redhead's waiting for you."

Almost as if on cue, the door to the pub opened and in stepped Mr Weasley, his eyes uncertain as he looked to the two of them. Relief was clear in his face though, obviously pleased that they seemed to be getting along.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Arthur asked the young boy, hopeful and worried in equal parts.

"Yeah, but..." Harry replied, but he paused as he glanced over to Aberforth who gave him an encouraging nod. "But I'd...I'd like to go home now."

"Home, Harry?" Arthur said, slightly surprised by the forthrightness of the boy, something that had been missing in the last few weeks. He didn't know what Aberforth had said, but the result was nothing short of a miracle.

"Yeah," Harry said nervously, but he relaxed slightly when Mr Weasley's face broke out into a smile. "Our home. M-My home. You know...Home."

"Home it is," Mr Weasley said with a proud smile, gesturing Harry towards the door.

As they left, Harry called out a goodbye to the barman, but he received no reply. When Harry glanced back, he saw Aberforth, standing stock-still and staring at a painting on the wall of a young girl, grief and pain clearly etched on his face.

Harry left without another word.

* * *

**A/N-** So, this is definitely not one of my best. I've re-read and re-worked this scene so many times and I'm still not sure I've got it completely right, but in the end I just posted it as it was.

Ah, well. I hope you liked it anyway? And how was Aberforth? Did anyone predict him taking on the role of therapist for Harry? Did it work well?

I'd love to hear some feedback on this chapter. I appreciate all the reviews, favourites and alerts I receive so much, and they really do help me when I write the next chapter. So thanks to everyone who's supported this story so far! I hope it doesn't disappoint!


	15. Diagon Alley

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 14: Diagon Alley**

* * *

Alone in his darkened shed, oblivious to the laughter coming from outside as his children enjoyed the warm summers day, Arthur Weasley fiddled with the small radio in his hands, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pulled a wire from the centre of the muggle object.

_I wonder what this wire is for, _he thought to himself idly as he gently tugged onto it to see what it would do, his mouth taking on a small frown when nothing happened. _Maybe if I pulled it out completely..._

"Mr Weasley?"

The quiet voice drifted in from the doorway of the shed, joined by a brief tentative knock on the door, but Arthur barely heard it, his thoughts spinning in a different direction. Why wasn't anything happening?

_Maybe it's got something to do with that muggle eckeltricity..._

So lost in the task at hand, Arthur didn't notice the door opening or the light that suddenly spilled into the small room. It didn't even register that there was currently only one person at the Burrow who would call him 'Mr Weasley' instead of 'Arthur' or 'dad', so focused was he on the muggle object in his hands.

"Mr Weasley?" continued the voice tentatively.

"Hmm?" asked Arthur absentmindedly as he experimentally fixed the wire to another part of the radio.

"Can I...erm...can I talk to you? You know...just for a minute..."

The voice sounded unsure, and the tone of the request finally made its way into Arthur's distracted brain. He raised his head, his eyes immediately meeting the green ones belonging to the newest addition to their family.

"Harry," Arthur said softly, making sure to fix a reassuring smile to his face as he surreptitiously studied the boy before him.

The sight that greeted his eyes was a far cry from what it had been when he had first cast eyes on the boy.

To put it simply, he now looked more human.

Harry's street rags were gone, long destroyed by Molly, now replaced by clothes that, although they had once belonged to his son, Ron, were still a great improvement on what the boy had been found in.

Despite this though, Arthur found himself wanting to get Harry some of his own clothes as well, bought specially for him and him only. All children should have clothes of their own, and it broke Arthur's heart that Harry had so far been denied something so necessary in his short life. Arthur vowed silently, as he looked towards the nervous yet brave and oddly defiant boy, that Harry will never go without life's necessities again, no matter what it took.

Looking at the boy once more, Arthur noted that Harry was clean now as well, and his hair was slightly less wild now that it had been washed. It was still a messy in a way which Molly had not yet been able to completely tame, no matter how hard she had tried, but Arthur rather thought it suited the boy.

Perhaps the biggest change he could see in the boy, as he stood nervously in the doorway, was in how healthy he now looked compared to what he had been like even one week ago.

When they'd first met, Harry had been literally wasting away, his body strangely reminiscent of an emancipated prisoner. In fact, Arthur hadn't realised that it was possible to be that thin and still be alive. Harry's magic had definitely contributed to his continued survival according to Pomfrey; take that factor away and Harry might have died years ago. It was a sobering thought, and Arthur did his best to keep the emotion he felt off his face. He wanted Harry to feel comfortable in his presence, but he never would if Arthur kept frowning and glaring every two seconds.

Pushing the thought away with a bit more force, Arthur resumed his silent assessment of Harry, whilst he waited patiently for the boy to start speaking.

Harry had added a little bit of weight to his starving frame now of course, helped by three square meals a day of Molly's cooking and a few of Poppy's nutritional potions, lending him the look of being merely unhealthy now, rather than downright malnourished. Of course, any kind of weight gain was a massive improvement on the state he had been found in, but it was clear that Harry still had a long way to go before he resembled anything like a normal teenager.

Harry had slept rough for far too long for the signs to have disappeared in the mere week or so that he had been in their home, and it broke Arthur's heart every time he was reminded of the boy's terrible and traumatic past.

The bruises that had marred his face on that first night were gone, long healed by Poppy, but Arthur caught a certain look in Harry's eyes sometimes, when he saw him in a rare unguarded moment. It was a look that screamed of hope warring desperately with fear, reminding Arthur that, although the physical pains were slowly being fixed, the damage done to the boy went much deeper, and would be much harder to overcome than a few bruises.

Harry was a strange mix of scared child and grown adult. It was clearly no accident that Harry had survived all these years by himself; he was obviously intelligent, resourceful, brave and stubborn, a combination that, had it been nurtured instead of abused, would have resulted in an almost unstoppable wizard.

On the other hand though, there were certain circumstances where Harry's experience was woefully lacking, and that it was clear that he just didn't know how to act. Molly had tried numerous times to show affection towards the boy, be it with a hug or even just a gentle pat on the shoulder, but each time Harry had either flinched away nervously, or had been so stiff and tense that the moment soon became uncomfortable for Harry and Molly both. He was spooked too easily, always seeming to expect the worse when someone interacted with him.

"Can I..." Harry began again, interrupting Arthur's musing immediately. "Can I...talk to you? If you're not busy that is..."

"Harry," Arthur interrupted warmly, dragging his thoughts back to the present. He felt slightly guilty as he looked towards the unsure boy standing painfully still in the doorway, tense and ready to bolt at the first sign that he was unwelcome there. Arthur shook himself to push the feeling away, fixing a welcoming smile onto his face as he gestured for Harry to join him. "Of course you can talk with me. Come on in."

Harry followed his gentle instruction, relaxing slightly when he caught sight of Arthur's smile. He offered his own small, unsure smile in return, and Arthur felt his heart swell at the distance this boy had come already.

"Now, what seems to be the problem?" he asked Harry warmly, pushing aside the radio for the moment.

As Harry moved further into the darkness of the shed, Arthur took a look at the open door, wondering whether he should close it so that their conversation was private. In the end he dismissed that idea. In the two minutes Harry had been in his presence, the boy's eyes had darted numerous times to that open door. He was clearly more comfortable with an obvious way out, not wanted to be trapped alone with a grown man in a small space, and although it broke Arthur's heart that Harry did not yet trust him completely yet, Arthur refused to deny him that small comfort.

Following Arthur's gaze to the door, but apparently choosing not to mention it, Harry seemed to take a deep, steadying breath, before moving nervously forward, obviously still anxious that he was interrupting something. After a moment of tense indecision, he raised his eyes to meet those of Mr Weasley.

"I...erm," Harry began unsurely, clutching the piece of parchment tightly in his hands. "I just got this...in the post. An...owl brought it."

Immediately, Arthur's consciousness was bombarded with every terrible scenario that his tortured mind could come up with; everything from hate mail to death threats invaded his thoughts, a pattern not helped by the fact that Harry seemed so obviously anxious about it.

"It's from Mr Dumbledore," Harry continued, oblivious to Arthur's momentary panic. "Aberforth, I mean.

"Oh," Arthur said, letting out a relieved breath. Relief was quickly replaced by curiosity as he wondered what the old pub landlord had written.

"Could I take a look perhaps, Harry?" Arthur asked carefully, eyeing the slightly crumpled parchment.

"Oh," Harry replied. He held out his hand. "Here."

Arthur reached forward taking the parchment from Harry's unresisting hand. He forced himself to ignore the flinch he felt as his hand had faintly brushed the boy's, tapering down his anger at those blasted Muggles as he began to read.

_Harry,_

_I'm not much of a letter-writer so I won't say much. I was wondering if you'd like a job. You did good work in my pub last week, helping me out, and I reckon I could use an extra pair of hands. So what do you say? We can have some more of those chats if you want, or not. It's up to you. Let me know what your answer is by tomorrow. Arthur will show you how._

_Aberforth._

Dragging his eyes away from the scruffy writing, Arthur looked towards the fidgeting boy in front of him.

"What seems to be the problem?" prompted Arthur gently as he handed back the parchment.

"I...erm...I don't know what to do," Harry mumbled.

"What do you mean?" Arthur questioned, surprised by the young boy's admission. He'd thought Aberforth and Harry had gotten along fairly well. "Do you not want a job?"

Arthur thought this was quite understandable, especially with what the boy had been through in the past few years. For someone who had been denied the chance to have fun for so long, Arthur wouldn't blame the boy for wanting to take some time off, especially when he would be beginning an intensive education soon.

"No, I do," Harry confessed, surprising Arthur even more. "I've wanted one for...ages. But I've always been too young. No one wants to hire a kid..."

"We have different rules in our world," Arthur told him. He had noticed the faint frustration in Harry's expression but he chose not to comment on it. "It is not unreasonable for a shop keeper, or in this case a pub landlord, to take on help from someone your age. Bill and Charlie both had part-time jobs when they were younger. When money was tighter..."

"Do you...want me to help out too?" Harry asked quickly, ducking his head to look at his feet. "I can give you the money...you know...when I'm paid. I want to be able to stay..."

"Oh, Harry," Arthur said. "You don't need to pay your way with us. The boys only took jobs on so that they could earn a little pocket money. Molly and I never took a knut from them, and we won't take anything from you either. Any money you earn is yours to spend how you wish."

"But I don't want to be a burden."

"You couldn't be." Arthur said softly, hating the people who had failed this boy so desperately. "One day you will see that, I promise you."

Harry didn't know what to say in reply to the stirring and sincere words from the Weasley patriarch, but it seemed the man didn't require an answer.

"Harry," Mr Weasley began tentatively. He had a feeling that there was something more to Harry's concerns that he had already mentioned. "Is there something else bothering you?"

"Sort of," replied Harry quietly, biting his lip nervously as he thought of how to phrase his next concern. "What about...you know...talking and stuff?"

"Oh," Arthur replied, taking in the nervousness of the boy in front of him. It was clearly something that had been bothering him since the meeting with Aberforth, and Arthur cursed himself for not having noticed earlier. "I thought you'd got on well? He seemed to like you, Harry."

"He said he did," mumbled Harry, before raising his eyes. "I just...I don't get why he wants to know about my past."

"He doesn't Harry," Arthur replied softly. "He wants you to speak about it."

"I don't understand," Harry said with a frown.

"He wants to help you," Arthur answered, his tone sure. "Sometimes, in situations like yours, it helps to talk with people about things. Aberforth has helped his fair share of lost souls over the years."

"But I don't want to talk about it," Harry whispered with difficulty, eyes shut.

"Harry," Arthur began gently. "Has Aberforth ever implied that he would _make _you talk about anything?"

Arthur knew Aberforth Dumbledore quite well, and he couldn't believe that the old man would force a traumatised boy to talk about the horror that had occurred in his life. Aberforth was quite possibly the most patient man Arthur had ever met, and if he was offering a job to Harry, it meant that he had decided that the young boy was worth the time. Arthur, oddly enough, felt his heart rise in hope at the thought.

"No..." muttered Harry, but the slight frown on his face was what concerned Arthur. It was clear that, as far as the boy had come in the last week or so, he was still having trouble trusting them. And honestly, Arthur couldn't blame him.

"I know Aberforth quite well, Harry," Arthur told him firmly but he was careful to keep his tone kind. "He would take a secret to the grave if someone asked him to. He's also not the type to force you to talk. That's one of the reasons why I agreed to allow you to meet with him at all."

"He never told you what we talked about...you know...last time?" Harry asked tentatively, as if afraid of the answer.

"Never breathed a word," Arthur answered, sparing a small smile for the boy in front of him.

Harry seemed to be having an internal debate, his brow furrowed in confusion, but in the end he seemed to come to a decision.

"I'd...I'd like to take the job," Harry told him. "If he'll still have me. I like him. And I...I trust you."

Arthur was stunned by the quiet declaration, as much for the sincerity of the statement as for the words themselves. For a boy like Harry to say that he trusted him...well, it seemed Harry had come further than they'd thought.

"Well," Arthur began, clearing his thought discretely. "Let's see about that reply then, shall we?"

Harry nodded and backed out of the shed. Arthur followed him, the bright sunlight hitting his eyes, his mouth curved upwards as he allowed a smile to grace his lips. Maybe Aberforth was right after all. Harry wasn't broken beyond all hope. Not by a long shot.

* * *

A couple of days later, the redheaded family, two parents and five children, moved quickly down the crowded shopping street, barely sparing a glance for the wonderful magical shops that they passed along their way. To passers-by they seemed tense and nervous, the two parents anxiously glancing towards the youngest boy in their troop.

The boy was small, scrawny looking, as if he knew the true meaning of hunger, and his face had a pinched unhealthy look about it. His green eyes were wide though, open in amazement as if he was looking at the magical street as if for the first time. He was different to the rest of them, but most barely gave him a second glance. He had red hair as well, although it was messier than the rest, and that was enough for them to assume that he was part of their family, in one way or another.

"How are you doing, Harry?" Arthur asked quietly, as he glanced anxiously over to the boy walking quickly beside him. So far, Harry had been fine. His problems with people obviously were not when they were in crowds, but when he was alone with them. In fact, Harry looked a little awestruck by Diagon Alley, and the look of wonder and amazement on his face made him look years younger.

"I'm okay..." murmured Harry as they walked swiftly past a shop that claimed to sell animals of every variety. Harry could have sworn he saw boa constrictor in there, but they moved past the window too quickly for Harry to be sure.

Strangely enough, although he was surrounded by all manner of strange people, Harry felt more at home here in the crowd than he had in the Burrow. He supposed it was something to do with the disguise he was wearing. He was anonymous here- no one was paying any attention to him, allowing him to revert back to the state he had been in on the streets, a state that he felt much more comfortable with.

Here, he didn't have to be the Boy-Who-Lived. He didn't even have to be Harry. All he was at this moment, was a redheaded boy. Nothing special, nothing to gawk at; just the way he liked it.

Harry moved a hand nervously through his new hair, still unused to the strange length. It slightly longer than usual, a ruse designed to make sure his scar was hidden at all times, and it had been changed to a very bright shade of ginger, ironically enough, to help him blend in.

Harry had had his reservations about the disguise but he found himself grateful for it now. Harry's lessons were due to start soon, and in the next few days the teachers from Hogwarts would be coming to the Burrow to give him a few introductory lessons. For that, he needed his own wand, hence their trip to the magical street.

The whole family had accompanied them, minus Percy, and Harry found himself grateful for the support. Harry had never been taken shopping before, and he found the whole experience rather intimidating, especially surrounded by the crowd of people on the busy street.

It was odd, but Harry found himself reverting back to his street instincts. Never make contact, don't draw attention, survive. His senses were heightened, his focus pure, and it gave him a confidence in himself that he had been lacking recently.

This he knew. He had no idea how to handle kindness and care, but anonymity...that he could deal with.

"Come along then, everybody," Molly said, interrupting Harry's musing as she looked towards her troop when they reached a break in the busy street. "Arthur, why don't I take the kids to get an ice-cream at Fortescue's while you take Harry to go and get his wand?"

"Okay, dear," Arthur agreed easily and he waved goodbye as she ushered Fred, George, Ron and Ginny in a different direction. Percy had barely spent any time at the Burrow, so much so that Harry had only seen him once, and he had not joined them on this trip.

"Come on then, Harry," Arthur said kindly, placing a hand gently on his shoulder to guide him through the busy street. "Ollivander's is this way."

When they reached the shop, Arthur allowed his hand to fall from Harry's shoulder, but Harry found that he missed the warmth and the weight of it.

"Let's get you a wand," Arthur said kindly, offering a small smile to the boy as he gestured for Harry to enter the small shop.

* * *

"I...erm...I didn't much like Mr Ollivander," Harry admitted tentatively as the bright sunlight hit his face once again.

"He is rather...odd, isn't he," Arthur agreed. Gently, he steered Harry through the street, keeping a hand on the young boy's shoulder so that he wouldn't lose track on him in the busy crowd.

"Was he right?" Harry asked anxiously. "You know...about my wand?"

"I don't know, Harry," Arthur sighed. "But I intend to find out. I don't want you to worry about it though. That wand chose you, and no matter who has the brother wand, there's nothing wrong with that, I promise you."

The boy still looked unsure, but his grip around the boy containing his wand tightened slightly and there was a faint smile on his face.

"Come along, Harry," Arthur said, injecting a cheerfulness into his voice that he didn't quite feel at the moment. "Let's go and find the others, hmm?"

They walked side by side, dodging the other people in the streets as they made their way over to the ice-cream shop.

"Harry, mate! Dad! Over here!"

They walked quickly over to the outside table where Mrs Weasley, Ron, Fred, George and Ginny were all finishing off what looked like delicious ice-creams.

"All sorted?" Mrs Weasley asked as her husband greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

"In a way," answered Arthur, somewhat gravely, and Harry ducked his head at the thought the trouble he had caused them once again. Mr Weasley noticed the reaction from Harry and frowned slightly before turning to face his children.

"Boys, Ginny," Arthur said. "Why don't you take Harry to look at the Quidditch shop? I just need a word with your mum for a moment."

Harry felt his cheeks redden slightly, since he knew that they'd be they'd be talking about him, but he agreed readily and followed the boys and Ginny onto the street. leaving his new purchase in Mr Weasleys possession.

It didn't take long before they came upon the shop and Harry, despite his self-imposed silence, felt his eyes widen in shock as he glanced at the merchandise that this particular shop was displaying in it's window. Broomsticks, strange looking balls, what looked like some kind of sport-robe, moving posters...it was incredible.

Harry knew a little about Quidditch, mainly from what Ron had told him, but he'd never seen the game being played before. As they made their way inside the rather cramped and busy store, Harry found himself hungrily taking in the posters of Quidditch players, not unlike the one in Ron's room, half-hoping that one day he would get a chance to play the game himself.

The twins wanted to show Ginny something, so he and Ron walked over to a display in the far corner of the room, Harry drawn there by the shiny gold balls on sale. Tentatively he picked one up, and to his surprise found that it came to life in his hand, wings popping out from the metal shell, whirring as fast as the wings on a bee.

"It's called a Snitch, remember?" Ron told him as he picked on up too. "The ball that the seekers catch. They aren't properly activated yet, or the shop keeper would have a devil of a time trying to catch them all."

Harry nodded absently as he replaced the ball where he found it. Magic itself had captured his imagination like nothing else in his life, but by far the most astounding things he had come across so far was the game played on brooms high up in the air.

Harry found himself itching to give it a try.

"We can try to fly later, if you want?" Ron offered cautiously, having noticed the look on Harry's face. "When we get back, I mean. I'm sure Fred or George won't mind lending you one of their brooms for a bit. I'll teach you."

Harry nodded in cautious excitement, a small smile forming on his lips as he looked at the eagerness in Ron's face that was no doubt reflected in his own. He was about to thank Ron out loud, when a voice interrupted them.

"Well," drawled the voice from behind them. It was the voice of a young boy, posh by the sound of his accent. "If it isn't the Weasel..."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron snapped as he flipped around to meet the owner of the voice.

Harry tensed slightly at the mention of the name Malfoy, and at the hatred in Ron's voice, but he didn't turn around choosing instead to continue perusing the display of snitches. In his experience, it was better to ignore the taunts of other kids. In a lot of cases, engaging with them was exactly what they wanted. Instead, Harry chose to ignore the young boy, his stance wary and tense, but seeming apparently unaffected to the outsider.

Ron, however, did not seem to be able to help himself.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy," Ron snapped angrily.

"Shopping, Weasley," Malfoy replied, deliberately talking down to Ron. Harry clenched his fists tightly but still he didn't react. "Of course, you wouldn't know anything about that, would you? When was the last time your family could afford to buy anything? One hundred years ago, was it? Two hundred?"

"At least we don't live among peacocks," Ron replied hotly, his face blushing furiously. "You stuck up, slimy git – "

"Now, now Weasley," Malfoy tutted. "I wouldn't want you to embarrass yourself in front of your new friend."

Malfoy turned his attention to Harry, and the thin boy felt eyes burn into his back, but still he didn't turn round. His patience was wearing thin though...

Malfoy seemed to get frustrated at the lack of response, raising his voice slightly louder as he looked back to the small boy.

"On second thoughts...perhaps not a friend," he sneered. "Red hair, and hand-me-down clothes? You must be a Weasley."

Finally having had enough, Harry turned slowly to face the boy, taking in his pale, pointed face, and his white blond hair. He had been ready to ignore whatever assertions the git made about his character, but for some reason his fuse was shorter when he insulted his adoptive family.

Malfoy was smaller than Ron, and not much taller than Harry really, but somehow he still managed to somehow look down his nose at them.

Needless to say, Harry took an instant dislike to him.

"What do you want?" Harry asked, trying to taper down his fear and inject his voice with confidence. Lessons learnt on the streets came back to him; never appear weak, always act like you had every right to be there.

"Oh," sneered the boy. "Look what we have here. Definitely another Weasel."

"Don't mess with me," Harry warned after the boy had shot him a disgusted look. Harry couldn't help his heart thudding when the boy automatically assumed he was part of the Weasley family. Pushing aside the thought though, Harry turned back the blond boy, trying to look as threatening as possible. "Just leave us alone."

"Don't mess with you?" Malfoy laughed, although he looked slightly less sure of himself now that he was confronted with an openly hostile Harry. "You? Who do you think you are?"

"He's Barney," Ron interjected, shooting a nervous glance to Harry. "My cousin."

"You Weasleys do seem to breed like rabbits," Malfoy taunted. "Nothing better than animals, the lot of you..."

"Shut up Malfoy!" Ron yelled, drawing the attention of some of the shop's other customers. Harry looked around the shop, hoping to spot Fred and George to get a little support, but they were nowhere to be seen. "At least my family are decent people. Yours..." Ron laughed loudly, causing spots of pink to appear on Malfoy's otherwise pale face. "Serve any evil wizards lately?"

"You know nothing," Malfoy snapped, obviously flustered by the comment but unwilling to look weak. Harry had to appreciate the boy's acting skills. "You are traitors to you own kind."

Malfoy took a step forward, chin raised high as he looked towards the two redheads in front of him in disgust. Harry had to steel himself to hold firm and not step back at the movement.

"You Weasels will never amount to anything –"

"Shut up, you coward," Harry interrupted angrily. If there was one thing he hated, it was bullies, and there was no doubt about it; this boy definitely fit into that category. "I've known people like you my whole life. You think you're better than everyone else, but deep down you're nothing but scum..."

Angrily, Malfoy moved forward, shoving Harry so that his back hit the shelf behind him. Pain erupted in his back, but it barely registered as red clouded his mind.

"Don't touch me!" Harry growled, pushing back with all his might. Red overcame his vision and he could hear his heart beat thudding in his ears as memories swirled around his consciousness too quickly for him to regain his senses. Half-blindly, Harry swung his fist, idly registering the sharp pain as he connected with bone. There was a groan, and someone called his name, but it didn't sink into his clouded mind. All he that registered was that he was under attack and had to defend himself.

His fists swung again, making contact with any part of the attacker as he could, and when they were pulled behind him, he struggled harder than ever. He hated being restrained, hated being that vulnerable, so he kicked out and fought harder than he had ever done in his life.

"Oof," groaned the person behind him, but Harry didn't care. In his struggle, they'd released his arms again, and he wriggled away to a corner to get his breath back, his fists raised in front of him so that he could defend himself if necessary.

His back was aching from where he'd hit the shelf and his fists were throbbing painfully. Slowly, as he took a deep breath, the cloud covering his mind beginning to finally lift. Looking around him, the carnage he had caused was obvious. Shelves had been knocked over, the merchandise scattered all over the floor.

The rest of the customers in the busy shop were standing stock-still, staring at Harry with wide eyes and open mouths. Harry closed his eyes desperately as he tried to will his mind into cooperation.

"Someone get dad," ordered Ron quickly, presumably to one of his siblings as he moved slowly and cautiously over to where Harry had taken refuge.

Confused by what had happened, Harry raised his eyes to meet those of his friend, immediately aware that something was wrong. Ron was clutching a hand to his side, his face set in a grimace as he hobbled over to Harry.

"What...What happened?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse, flinching as Ron sat beside him on the floor.

"You attacked Malfoy," Ron answered concerned. He glanced over to the centre of the room, Harry's eyes following his gaze until he noticed the bloodied and beaten boy trying to pull himself off the floor. Harry's eyes burned with shame.

"I'm...sorry," Harry choked out. "I didn't mean..."

"I know you didn't, mate," Ron muttered to his friend, very conscious of the crowd that had gathered to see what the commotion was.

They sat like that for a moment, surrounded by the chaos of the fight, waiting for eye of the storm to pass and the trouble to really begin.

They didn't have to wait long.

"Wait until my father hears about this!"

It was Malfoy, and although he looked considerably worse for wear, he was on his feet and hobbling angrily over to where Harry and Ron were sat. Harry's energy had been sapped out in the fight, and he made no move to defend himself as the boy came upon them.

"How dare you attack me! You'll be in so much trouble for this!" sneered Malfoy, sensing perhaps that his foe was at his weakest. "My father has connections with the Ministry you know. He'll have your father's job for this – "

"That won't be necessary, Draco," interrupted an oily voice that startled Harry as it came up beside him. Turning slowly, so as not to aggravate his back, Harry was greeted with the sight of Professor Snape, the greasy haired Potion's Professor, making his way slowly around through the crowd towards them.

Harry's self-preservation instincts screamed at him to run, but he couldn't seem to summon the energy. Instead he remained unmoving and vulnerable on the floor, resigned to whatever fate would befall him. He was tired of running. He just wanted the nightmare to be over.

"What do you mean, Professor?" Malfoy asked confused, glancing between the Professor and the two redheaded boys sat on the floor.

"I doubt your father will be pleased to hear that you have been engaging in _muggle _fighting," Snape replied evenly, although he had a look of disgust on his face at the word 'muggle'.

"But, they started it!" protested the pale boy, clearly taken aback by the lack of support from the dark haired man. Harry himself was startled by the position the Professor had taken. He had been expecting the dour man to start berating him and Ron, not the pale-faced boy.

"I do not care you stupid boy," snapped Snape, not even sparing a glance for Harry or Ron. "Your father is, as of this moment, trying to win favour with our current Minister of Magic. This foolish endeavour will only serve to damage his campaign."

"What can I do?" asked the boy as he desperately looked around the crowd of onlookers. Harry thought he looked a bit pathetic now, but that only made him regret his actions more. This boy was no street fighter; he was definitely no threat.

"Leave," Snape answered shortly. "Go home, Draco. And mention this to no one. I assume you can heal yourself when you get back to the manor?"

"Yes, sir." The boy paused, fidgeting slightly. "You'll...erm...you'll keep this quiet then?"

"You have my word, Draco," Snape replied, a little less harshly this time. "Your father will not hear about this from me. And I doubt any of these cowards will have the guts to tell him. Lucius Malfoy is not a man to cross."

It was said rather evenly, but no one in the crowd of onlookers missed the threat in the words. They shuffled uncomfortably and began to move away back to their shopping. At the sight of the shop emptying slowly, Harry felt himself release a breath that he had not realised he had been holding. There was a great deal of muttering and odd looks from them as they dispersed, but no one contradicted the tall greasy haired man.

Without another word, Draco sent one more glare towards Ron and Harry before spinning on his heels and storming out of the shop, soon becoming lost in the busy street, looking distinctly more ruffled and bloodied than he had when he'd entered it.

In the quiet aftermath of the blond boy's departure, Snape turned his attention to the two boys in front of him, a glare forming on his lips. Harry tensed slightly as his eyes met with the dark eyes of his Professor, the expression in his eyes unreadable.

"I suggest Mr Weasley," began Snape, speaking as if it caused the man pain to not insult the two of them, "that you and your..._cousin _find your parents and return home."

Ron looked rather shell-shocked, but choked out a "Yes, sir."

Seemingly satisfied, Snape gave them one last stern nod before he too stormed out, the people in the busy street parting like the red sea.

For a moment, both boys were quiet, taking in the destruction around them with small amount of shock. Nervously, Harry glanced over to the shop keeper, but the man, who was clearly no stranger to school children fights, simply sighed and raised his wand. Harry closed his eyes, half-expecting to be cursed, but without the energy to defend himself.

To his surprise, he felt nothing.

When he opened his eyes cautiously, he realised that the shop keeper had been merely tidying up the mess. Shelves were righting themselves, and fallen stock was flying back to its original position. Idly, as he watched the spell do its work, Harry wondered if he would ever get used to magic.

"Bloody hell," commented Ron, his eyebrows raised as he turned to glance at Harry with a frown. He was clearly still in shock over Snape's appearance and Harry couldn't blame the boy. "Well, that was unexpected."

Harry had nothing to say in reply, choosing instead to close his eyes tightly again and lean back against the shelf behind him, stoutly ignoring the pain that erupted in his back at the movement.

In truth, with everything he had experienced of the Potions Professor so far, he hadn't expected the man to come to their rescue either. The man had seemed so angry, especially when he first came upon the scene, but instead of berating them, he had sent Malfoy on his way as if nothing had happened. Harry didn't doubt the young boy's words when he had threatened to tell his father, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what trouble they had just avoided with the help of Snape.

Harry knew the man hated him, although he still didn't know exactly why, and that begged the question...

Why on earth had he helped them?

* * *

**A/N-** So, this chapter is long overdue, and I'm sorry for that, but was it worth the wait? What did people think of Snape's appearance at the end? Has he really seen the error of his ways, or did he do what he did because of his oath to Dumbledore and his promise to Lily? And was Draco in character do you think?

I'd love to hear from you! There was an astounding response to the last chapter (over thirty reviews!) and I thank each and every one of you wonderful, wonderful people! I'm so glad you liked the idea if Aberforth talking with Harry. That will definitely be an idea that will come up again!

Thanks for reading!


	16. Keep Calm and Carry On

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 15: Keep Calm and Carry On**

* * *

"Harry?"

Harry raised his head slowly, his eyes glazed over as he made out the outline of Mr Weasley in front on him. Harry was still sat on the floor of the Quidditch shop, staring off into space and with no idea of how much time had passed since Snape had stalked out.

In fact, his mind was mercifully blank.

Blinking slowly as unwelcome thoughts began to trickle in through the exhaustion that clouded his mind, Harry vaguely registered the concern and worry that lined Mr Weasley's face as the man bent over to see if he and Ron were okay.

"Come along, Harry," Mr Weasley said softly, although Harry thought there was a tinge of worry in his voice too. Harry frowned. "Let's get you home. Why don't you help him up, Ron?"

Harry felt arms grab him by the shoulders, the touch gentle and reassuring, but he couldn't prevent himself from flinching slightly at the contact. His mind may have been foggy and exhausted but his nerves felt like they were lit fuses, his body ready to spark into life at the earliest provocation.

"Easy mate," Ron muttered with a frown.

Tentatively, the hands remained, and Harry found himself being pulled up to his feet. Pain flared up in his back at the unexpected movement, but though he couldn't prevent the hiss of pain from escaping his lips, he did his best to push the feeling away.

Emotions meant weakness, and weakness was vulnerability. He clung to his armour, the armour that had protected him for all those lonely years on the streets, as well as the years of degrading and bullying at the Dursleys. He shut his mind off from the pain, the memory of the fight, Malfoy, Snape...everything.

Numbness had overcome him once the fight was over, and he pulled it back now. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to explain to the worried Mr Weasley, who he had come to respect in the last week, why he had just beaten up a boy he had only just met. He didn't want to look at Ron and see the fear in his eyes.

Harry clenched his aching fists to dispel the pain in his heart. He had been through worse before and he would no doubt go through worse in the future. At least he was okay physically; there were no broken bones this time for one thing. His knuckles were a bit sore, but that was nothing in the grand scheme of things, and he pushed the discomfort aside with little care.

In fact, Harry was actually more worried about how the Weasleys were going to react to what had happened. They had made it clear that he was welcome in their home, but what would they think now? He'd tried so hard to be respectful, polite and not be a bother or a burden, but in one afternoon he'd surely ruined it. Aberforth had tried to tell him that the Weasleys were used to trouble, and Harry wanted to believe him, but he couldn't help the doubts that were clouding his mind.

He always been told he was too much trouble.

All he wanted to do now was go home. He only hoped he was still welcome and that he still had a home to go to.

Sighing slightly, Harry looked to Mr Weasley and saw the worry and confusion in his kind eyes. Harry hated the stress he was causing the man, but he knew he would have to face the music eventually. He would accept whatever the man decided to do with him, even, he thought with a heavy heart, if he wanted him to leave. He had survived this long on his own and Harry had no doubt, even though he had become attached to the Weasleys, he could survive on his own again.

No matter what happened, even if it was the worst case scenario, he would not let it break him. Not after everything he'd been through.

With this new focus breaking through the fog in his mind, Harry shrugged the hand from his shoulder and walked slowly but purposefully to the front door of the shop, his head raised defiantly even though his heart was beating traitorously in his chest.

"Harry," Mr Weasley said, almost pleadingly this time, but Harry refused to turn his head.

Harry clenched his fists tightly, ignoring the sting of pain in his knuckles, and pushed his way through the door and into the bright light of the bustling wizarding street. Light and noise hit him as soon as his feet touched the cobbled road of Diagon Alley, overcoming his senses and leaving him standing bewildered and unsure in the doorway. It was too much, too soon. His nerves were on edge, and all Harry could see was threats in front of him. He closed his eyes, clenching them tightly as he stood there, frozen in the sunlight.

Harry felt a hand reach tentatively to rest on his shoulder, but Harry jumped at the unexpected contact. Turning around quickly, Harry realised with flushed cheeks, that it was only Mr Weasley. Though Harry turned away from the man, he didn't shrug the man's hand away. He was just too tired to fight it at the moment.

Still shaking slightly, Harry allowed Mr Weasley to guide him through the busy streets and back to the pub so that they could floo home. He didn't resist; Harry was just glad that he didn't have to think anymore. The fog was becoming more and more numbing to his mind, and he welcomed it.

* * *

"_No..."_

_Hands grabbed at Harry's tattered shirt, pulling him into a side alley, away from the crowd._

"_Leave me alone," Harry begged hoarsely. He fought and struggled but there was only so much his starving body could do. He was weak, and no match for the boys who had taken him._

"_Poor little street boy," they mocked nastily, pushing him against the wall. His back hit the bricks with a thud, pain erupting from the area. He cried out, but the alley was empty; there was no one to save him._

_He was alone._

_Hands grappled with his clothes, searching for prizes whilst he was held back. Over and over again, the boys pushed him as he struggled. The little money he had gathered that day was stolen, his shoes and glasses too._

_Anger and fear coursed through him, and he could sense that familiar feeling building up within his chest. It burst out before the thought had even fully formed in his mind, knocking the boy who held him to the floor._

_Harry slid down the wall to the floor as the hands left him, scrambling away as quickly as he could, his fists raised shakily in front of himself._

"_Leave m-me alone," he threatened desperately. "I...I haven't got anything. Leave me alone."_

_They ignored him, anger burgeoning on their features, advancing with fists raised and fury in their eyes. Harry scrambled backwards until his back hit the wall with a painful thud. There was nowhere else for him to go._

_There was no escape._

_No! No, no, no..._

Harry shot up out of bed, his voice muffled in his throat as he tried to contain his screams. Sweat dripped off his forehead and his hair, and caused his thin pyjama top to cling to his skinny chest.

His eyes were dulled and clouded over, and his breaths were coming hard and heavy. It was a few minutes before he was able to calm down long enough to even realise where he was.

The first thing he noticed was the comforting sound of Ron snoring in the bed beside his. At first Harry had hated the noise, oddly on edge with having another person so close to him whilst he slept, but now he found the idea strangely reassuring. It reminded him that he wasn't on his own anymore, and that he was safe now.

He was glad though, that he hadn't woken Ron up. Harry didn't want his friend to see him like this. To see him so weak. It had been bad enough in Diagon Alley, Harry thought. Since returning to the Burrow, Harry had done everything he could to try to act as normally as possible, hoping, somewhat irrationally, that the Weasleys would just pretend it had never happened.

Ron had so far not mentioned it, apparently happy enough to give Harry the space he needed, but Harry knew that the red-headed boy was desperately containing the questions that he wanted to ask, and that they would come eventually. But Harry didn't want to explain it. He wasn't even sure if he could.

All he knew was that he'd lost control.

He hadn't meant to, and hadn't even been aware of what he had been doing at the time, but the simple fact was that he had lost control. And that scared him. It scared him more than the nightmare that still lingered on his mind.

He was safe at the Weasleys, much safer than he had been on the streets. His life wasn't threatened daily here, nor did he have to fear attacks every time he walked around a corner.

So why had he lost control? Was that his life now; a ticking time bomb that could go off at any moment? Would he ever be normal?

And more scary a thought; would it happen again?

Harry pulled himself out of bed, his feet padding softly onto the floor as he tried to control his shaking limbs. He had to get outside. He wasn't running away, but the confining walls of the Burrow were doing little to comfort him.

He needed fresh air. He needed to see the sky and feel the wind whip through his hair. After living on the streets for so long, he had grown used to finding comfort in the freedom of the night sky.

Slowly he crept through the silent and sleeping house. It was late; Harry knew there would be no one awake at this late hour. For once, he welcomed the isolation, the loneliness. No one could understand what he had been through, and what he couldn't seem to get over. No one would ever truly understand what it had been like for him at the Dursleys, nor what his life had been like on the streets. The constant fear striking at his chest, day in, day out. The hunger that ravaged him, something that had never seemed to go away, even if he'd managed to get a decent meal for once. The pain of a beating, and the pain of knowing that there was no one there to comfort him afterwards or to make it better.

He was alone in knowing how that felt, because he had been alone all his life. Just because he had friends, and - dare he say it - a family now, didn't mean he felt any better about what had happened to him. It didn't make it go away...

The cool night-time air hit his face in a gust of wind as he stepped out of the kitchen door into the garden. He breathed it in deeply, relishing the time he had to himself once again. To _be_ himself; the poor little street boy who had been hurt far too much, and who didn't have all the answers. And who didn't _have _to have all the answers.

When he had got back from Diagon Alley, pale and shaking, he'd run straight up to the room he shared with Ron without waiting for anyone else to come through the Floo.

He'd lain on his side, his back still painful, and had waited for the inevitable to come. He hadn't even considered fighting it. He'd vowed that he would take whatever they chose to do to him, whether it be punishment or simply getting rid of him altogether. He'd known that he was refusing to think the best of them, even though they'd done nothing as of yet to break his trust, but he still, to this day, couldn't help that little part of him that struggled to believe that any good would come of anything.

However, when the door had eventually creaked open, and Harry had sat up to meet his fate, Mrs Weasley hadn't seemed angry or cross; she'd only seemed worried and...sad. Immensely sad.

Without a word, she'd made her way over his bed and had sat next to him, stoutly ignoring the fact that Harry had immediately tensed up. Gently, she'd reached over to pull his jumper and t-shirt up so that she could inspect his back. Harry, for his part, had been unresisting in his exhaustion. Silently, she'd begun to apply a soothing cream to the bruise Harry had known would be there. She'd never said a word as she'd worked, a fact for which Harry would be eternally grateful for. He'd found it oddly comforting. She hadn't tried to find out what happened, nor had she made him explain himself. No, all she'd done was make sure he was feeling alright.

It was strange, he'd thought, after she had left him alone once more, obviously having realised that he didn't want much company right now; Mrs Weasley had clearly known that something had happened in the Quidditch shop, but Harry, used to being blamed for everything that had ever gone wrong, had been surprised to find that she didn't care about that.

No, not that she didn't care. Just that...she cared more that he was alright.

Harry smiled as he watched the sun rise. She'd cared enough to fix him up, even though the fact that he'd been hurt had been his own fault in the first place.

She'd cared; it was a novel sensation for the boy, but Harry found that he liked it.

* * *

A few days later, Harry climbed out of bed with what seemed to be a thousand butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. He was nervous, and for good reason, he thought.

Today was his first day working for Aberforth. It had been a few days since the Malfoy incident, but Harry's head was no clearer on what had happened than it had been at the time. He was nervous, not about the work he was going to be told to do, but more about what Aberforth would say about recent events. The man seemed to have an uncommon ability to just simply _know _that something was wrong. He'd only met the man once, and yet Aberforth had already got Harry to talk about what had been bothering him, something no one else had ever really managed to do.

Harry was stubborn but it seemed that Aberforth was just as stubborn, if not more so, and although Harry didn't want to talk about anything now, he was scared that as soon as he saw those bright blue eyes, his secrets would come spilling out whether he wanted them to or not.

In other circumstances, Harry would just avoid the man, and the problem, altogether, but in this instance, he found that he couldn't simply pass up this opportunity, no matter how much he wanted to pretend like nothing was wrong.

Harry had always wanted a job, especially since he had been living on the streets. A job had always been the Holy Grail for him; the one way he had ever been able to envision himself actually living a real life.

Most kids, when they're young, dream of being an astronaut or a fireman or something like that, but Harry had never cared. His dream wasn't that he would have a cool job someday. It was just that he would be earning enough to get his own place, and buy his own food, and that one day he would have enough spare change so that he could buy his own clothes and books without having to take them. That he could earn enough money so that he would never have to beg on the streets again, or know the meaning of an empty stomach.

Of course, for Harry, living on the streets as he had, finding anyone willing to employ him had been almost impossible. Unsurprisingly, most people he had tentatively approached for odd jobs had dismissed him in seconds, simply on appearance. No one wanted to hire a dirty, smelly, orphaned street rat. Even worse, those few people who had looked past his grimy looks, had simply told him he was too young and to come back when he was older.

It had been painful to walk away after that kind of dismissal. It wasn't like he had a nice home to go back to until he was old enough to work. Harry hadn't, at the time, even been sure he would survive until his next birthday. Life had been getting harder and harder, and without a job Harry knew it was never going to get any easier. He'd hated begging from the first time he had forced himself to do it, and he despised stealing with a passion, but without a job, he'd had little choice. It was either that, or die; the simple harsh truth of Harry's life on the streets was that he'd had to look after himself.

But then he'd helped a red-headed stranger and his whole life had changed faster than he could comprehend it.

Now, not only did he have a real home, decent clothes and three square meals a day, he also had a job. He had the means to earn some money, rather than having to beg or steal it. Whether he needed it now or not was irrelevant; it mattered more to him than Aberforth or Mr Weasley would ever know. It meant security for the boy in a way that even a roof over his head didn't provide.

He vowed to himself, as he made his way downstairs for breakfast, that he would be the perfect employee. He would do whatever Aberforth asked, and he would do it with surety and efficiency. Harry wouldn't make Aberforth regret taking him on.

He had stayed in so many places over the years, always moving, always leaving something behind, that the meaning of home meant little if anything to him. He just didn't understand the concept. But a job? A job provided him with a commitment in a way that even the Burrow didn't do. It tied him here; to Aberforth, to the Weasleys, to the magical world. By accepting the job, he was committing himself to this new world, this new life.

Harry sighed deeply. It was a big step, but one he was ready for. It was a step he had been waiting to take for his whole life.

* * *

"Mr Dumbledore, Sir?" Harry called as he regained his balance after stumbling through the Floo. The pub was empty although it wasn't late and Harry felt the tendrils of unease begin to rise in his chest. Harry looked around somewhat nervously, but he couldn't spot his new boss anywhere. "Sir, I'm here."

"Through the back, Harry," came a gruff voice from the open door at the back of the pub. Harry recognised it as belonging to his new boss, but the fact that he couldn't see the man made him uneasy. Harry had walked into too many bad situations in his colourful past to stop being cautious now.

Tentatively, Harry walked slowly to the back door, still confused as to what was going on. He was tense, ready to spring into action if necessary. Poking his head around the open door, Harry saw that the door led to a small concrete yard. What he found in that yard surprised him.

Stood around Aberforth, bleating loudly, were three gruff goats.

"Sir?" Harry asked tentatively, as he looked at the scene with mild consternation, his heartbeat levelling slightly now that he knew he wasn't in danger. No wonder the pub was so grimy, Harry thought, eyebrows raised; the man had goats living on the premises.

"It's not '_Sir',_ Harry," Aberforth corrected, his attention still firmly on the goats. "Now instead of hanging around in the doorway, why don't you come meet my goats?"

"Erm...okay," mumbled Harry. Quietly, Harry came through the door and walked slowly over to the goats. The floor, that Harry had expected to be concrete, was in fact covered in hay and what appeared to be animal droppings. Anyone else would've been disgusted by it, but Harry had slept in some pretty disgusting places and the smell didn't bother him all that much.

"Now," began Aberforth gruffly, as he stroked the head of one of the goats. "These are my friends and I trust you'll treat them with the respect they deserve?"

The gruff voice that Aberforth normally used was slightly gentler when he spoke those last words, so Harry knew it was no threat. Nervously, Harry nodded his head. One of the goats butted his head gently against his leg, and Harry looked with concern over to Aberforth. He'd never really had much experience with animals, apart from shooing them away, and he had no idea what to do.

"Just give him a little stoke, lad," Aberforth suggested gruffly, having noticed Harry's reluctance. "He won't bite. Well...he won't bite you at any rate."

The last part was muttered, almost as if the old man was talking to himself, but Harry caught it, and it certainly didn't do anything for his nerves.

Slowly, Harry raised a pale hand and placed it on the goat's head, ready to pull it back at a moment's notice, just in case the goat decided it didn't like him. To his surprise though, the goat just bleated happily and nudged Harry in the leg in what seemed to be an affectionate way.

"His name's Brian," Aberforth told him, a small smile on his face as he looked towards the boy. "This here is Wulfric, and that fine chap over in the corner is Percival."

"Hi, Brian," Harry said quietly as he continued to stroke the goat between his small horns.

"Here," Aberforth said, chucking over a small bag. "Give him some food. He'll be hungry."

Harry opened up the bag and pulled out some grass. His eyebrows rose in surprise; he had expected some sort of meat or something.

"Goats don't eat much more than grass and shrubs," Aberforth told him, having noticed Harry confusion. "Since we don't have much in the way of shrubs here, they make do with this."

"Don't they get kind of...confined here?" Harry asked curiously as he fed a handful of grass to the eager goat. The yard wasn't very big, especially for three goats, and it was surrounded by fairly high walls on all sides. "You know, wouldn't they be happier... running free?"

"They don't stay here all the time," Aberforth replied gruffly. "Only every now and then. Most of the time they roam the hills around Hogwarts. They like the attention they get here, though."

"Mmm," muttered Harry absently as he continued to feed Brian. After a few moments, the goat seemed to get bored of Harry's attention and moved over to the corner to join one of the other goats.

"So..." Harry began as he watched the goat leave. "What is it you want me to do, sir?"

"Harry, I know I'm to be your boss now, but don't call me sir," Aberforth said, leaving the goats behind as he went over to join Harry. "Makes me feel like my brother."

Silently, Aberforth gestured for Harry to follow him, a small sense of trepidation making it's way onto the young boy's features as they made their way back into the pub.

"Now, about your job," Aberforth began as he sat at one of the stools at the bar. Harry, somewhat unsurely, sat next to him. "Let me get a few things straight. I'm no slave driver. If you don't feel comfortable doing something, just say so and they'll be no hard feelings. You're here to help me out, but it'll be no help to me if you've got a problem with what you're doing. I'm not going to take advantage of you. Understand, lad?"

"Yes," Harry replied, almost biting his tongue to stop himself saying 'sir'.

"One more thing, and then we'll get started," Aberforth continued once he was satisfied with Harry's reply. "Now, Arthur's mentioned that you've had some reservations about the whole talking part of this deal."

Harry nodded unsurely, his gaze dropping to knees. Part of him hated himself for being so weak, but he couldn't help it any more than he could help breathing. He'd never had anyone to talk to before, so it felt very unnatural to the timid boy.

"Well, I just wanted to say, lad," Aberforth continued gruffly. "That I'm not going to make you do anything that you don't want to do. Like I said last time, I'm nothing like my brother."

"Mr Weasley said it might help...you know, to talk?" said Harry tentatively, as he fiddled with a loose thread of the sleeve of his jumper. "That it might...make me feel better or something..."

"It might," Aberforth agreed grimly. "It might not. There are no guarantees. Either way, it's up to you. You'll have your job either way. That is if you still want it?"

Harry did his best not to seem too eager with his replying nod, but the small smile tugging at Aberforth's lips suggested that he hadn't been entirely successful.

"What exactly will this job be?" asked Harry carefully. "You, erm...you didn't really mention much in your letter."

"I just need someone to help out around here," replied Aberforth. "It can get kind of lonely for an old man like me, and I like you, lad. I wouldn't mind your company every now and then."

Harry hadn't thought of that. Aberforth had seemed so comfortable last time Harry had met him that it hadn't even occurred to him that the old man was unhappy. Oddly, Harry felt a strange sense of pity building within him. Pity mixed with understanding; Harry knew how it felt to be lonely as well.

Shaking his head slightly, Harry realised that Aberforth had begun to speak again, and he forced his attention back to the old man.

"Truth be told," Aberforth continued, "I don't get a lot of customers so there's not much you can do on that side of things. Although Albus mentioned that you shouldn't be paraded around the Wizarding world just yet, so maybe that's for the best. Today, I was wondering if you'd help me out with my goats. They make a hell of a mess, but they seem a bit adverse to magic, so I have to clean up by hand. I could use a little extra help?"

"Sure," Harry agreed. He'd never been afraid of getting his hands dirty, and was willing to do whatever it took to keep this job.

"Come on, then," Aberforth said gruffly as he led the way back into the back yard. "Let's get started."

He handed Harry a shovel and picked one up for himself. Without further ado, the old man, with strength belying his age, began to shovel the mixture of hay and excrement into a wheel barrow. Harry readjusted his own shovel in his hand before immediately joining the old man in the smelly work.

For a few minutes, neither spoke, revelling instead in the satisfaction of the manual labour. Despite the smell and the disgusting nature of what he was doing, Harry found himself enjoying the physicality of the task. He's missed out on that recently. Quite apart from getting satisfaction from doing a job well done, Harry had always found that his nightmares were less intense when he went to bed exhausted.

"Now, how've you been since I last spoke to you, lad?" Aberforth asked after a few moments, taking a small breather as he petted one of his goats affectionately. "Feeling more settled in at the Weasleys these days? I noticed that Arthur didn't accompany you today."

"I'm fine on my own," Harry shrugged as he took a moment to wipe the sweat from his face. "Anyway, I think I might...I might have let him down..."

Harry dropped his gaze to the dirty floor they were trying to clear up, desperate not to let his emotions get the better of him. He'd struggled in the last few days, half-expecting punishment still to be given to him when he was least expecting it. The fact that the Weasleys had not pushed him away only served to make him more confused.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Aberforth asked, as he once again picked up his shovel and resumed work. The fact that Aberforth's attention was not fixed on Harry actually made it easier for the shy boy, and it gave him a little time to ponder the question without putting him under any pressure.

Harry had been quiet for so much of his life, that he almost found it hard to speak at all. He wasn't mute, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he did find it a struggle at times to gather the courage to form the words he wanted to say.

At the Dursleys, no one had cared for his opinion, going even so far as to hurt him when he gave it, and on the streets there had been no one there to listen full stop. His voice had still worked, and his thoughts had still formed in his head, but he'd never really had anyone to _talk_ to before.

And now that there actually was someone who wanted to listen, Harry was finding it extraordinarily hard to form the words his mind wanted him to say.

"I got into a fight," Harry admitted, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves. "I just...I lost it..."

"What do you mean?" Aberforth said as they both continued to work. The fact that they were actively doing something as they talked actually made it easier for Harry to speak.

"He pushed me," Harry told him quietly, his eyes focused on his shovel. "Malfoy pushed me, and it was like something just came over me."

Harry took another deep, steadying breath to calm himself down, and for his part, Aberforth remained silent as he patiently waited for Harry to speak.

"I punched him then, I think," Harry whispered, his words almost lost over the sound of the goats bleating.

"You think?" prompted Aberforth, his gruff voice more gentle for once.

"I...couldn't do anything to stop myself," Harry continued after taking a moment to consider his words. "My head...it felt like fog. I...erm...I didn't know what had...happened until Ron came over to me. I just saw red."

Harry raised his head tentatively, half-scared to see the disappointment his the old man's eyes, but when his gaze finally met Aberforth's, the young boy saw nothing but understanding. Even so, Harry felt like he had to explain himself. Swallowing deeply, Harry began to speak.

"I...I don't like hurting people," Harry said somewhat desperately. "I know what it's like...you know...to be hurt. I don't want to become like _them. _I'm not like them!"

"I know you're not, lad," Aberforth reassured him gruffly, a reassuring expression fixed on his face. There was no disappointment there, and Harry felt himself relax slightly. "I reckon you just lost control, that's all. Happens to the best of us."

Harry frowned at the way Aberforth had said that. "What do you mean? Has something like that happened to you?"

Instead of answering the question outright, Aberforth simply said, "People like us...we have certain experiences that we'd rather forget?"

It was phrased as a question and Harry felt himself replying almost against his will; after taking a deep breath, he nodded slowly.

"Well, sometimes, if we try to push those bad memories away...they can come back to haunt us," Aberforth said grimly, his attention focused on his shovel as he carried on with the task.

"So what happened...it was...like a flashback?" Harry said, pausing for a moment.

"Something like that," Aberforth replied gruffly. "Like I said, it happens to the best of us."

Harry felt the clenching in his chest lighten slightly as he considered the older man's words. He hadn't, as Harry had perhaps expected, simply dismissed his worries as nonsense. Nor, Harry realised, had Aberforth told him that everything would be alright and that he'd get over it. In fact, all Aberforth had done was tell the simple truth; that it was a terrible thing to be haunted by, but he was not alone in suffering from it. It helped more than Harry could say.

"How do you deal with it, then?" Harry found himself asking. It was all well and good that, if not common, these flashback things did happen to others as well, but it wasn't enough. Harry was concerned with what to do to stop it happening again.

"I find talking helps," Aberforth answered, raising his eyes to meet Harry's. "And time. Some things you'll never get over, but they get less...intense after a while. And you've found a good family in the Weasleys. Let them try to help you. Don't push them away."

"I'm not a kid anymore," Harry said with a frown. "I'm not some child who needs a hug to make it all better."

"I never said you were, lad," Aberforth said, his tone full of understanding. "But sometimes we all need a bit of comfort and there's no sense in ignoring that. Embrace it, I say."

That was all well and good, Harry thought, coming from a man who lived in an empty pub with three goats.

Harry was pulled out of his musing when Aberforth asked, "Out of curiosity, how old are you?"

"Erm...twelve," Harry answered, frowning. "Wait...what date is it?"

"It's the 25th of July, I believe," Aberforth answered after a moment's thought.

"Then yeah, I'm still twelve," Harry replied quietly. "I'll be thirteen next week though. On the 31st."

"Well happy birthday for then, lad," Aberforth said with a small smile, before resuming with the work.

Harry shrugged. His birthdays had never been anything special, and he had no reason to think this one would be any different. Aberforth noticed the slightly odd reaction, but didn't comment on it.

"You said you thought you'd let Arthur down?" Aberforth prompted, momentarily taking Harry by surprise and slightly off-guard.

"Yeah," Harry stuttered, after taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "I mean...I keep messing up. I just can't seem to be normal."

"And how did he react to the fight in particular," Aberforth asked with a frown, ignoring that last admittance for the moment.

"He...didn't really," Harry replied quietly. "I mean, he hasn't even mentioned it. That's part of the problem..."

"You expected to be punished," Aberforth said, voicing Harry's thoughts.

"Well, yeah," Harry replied, stopping work for a moment to run a hand through his untidy hair. "I mean...I know it was wrong, what I did. I just don't get why they haven't said anything."

"Adults aren't perfect either, lad," Aberforth said gruffly. "Though I suspect you know that better than most."

Harry didn't say anything, but the expression in his eyes spoke for him.

"I suspect Arthur and Molly haven't said anything because they don't know what to say," Aberforth continued simply.

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Harry asked, somewhat desperately. He wanted nothing more than to put that stupid fight behind him, but at the moment it was still hanging over him, ready to come back to haunt him when he was least expecting it.

"Have you tried talking to _them _about it?" Aberforth enquired gently. "I reckon they were trying to give you some space. They probably thought you didn't _want_ to talk about it."

"I didn't really," Harry mumbled. "I just...hate not knowing what's going on."

"I can understand that," Aberforth admitted. "But you'd be surprised how much the Weasleys will understand as well. I know you've had a few experiences that mean that trusting is hard for you, but I reckon they genuinely have your best interests at heart. And if you don't tell them what's wrong, how can you expect them to help you?"

"I suppose...I can try," Harry said, after swallowing nervously.

"That's all anyone can ask," Aberforth said with a nod.

Harry didn't say much after that, but the silence wasn't unwelcome. He had a lot to think about.

* * *

**A/N-** Grr, another chapter I'm unhappy with. This one felt forced as I was writing it, but it's been such a long time since my last update that I felt I couldn't wait any longer to post. So, sorry if it's not up to usual standards. I've also been re-reading some of my older chapters and I've found so many little mistakes that I think I'm going to have to spend some time fixing them. If the next chapter is a little long in coming, that's why.

On a brighter note though, I have recently posted a new one-shot in which Harry gets drunk and is found by an annoyed Snape, which so far has received 50 reviews! Thank you to everyone who has given me such great feedback so far.

I've also got a Christmas one-shot in the works, so keep an eye out for that!

Anyway, thanks for reading!


	17. Best Wishes

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 16: Best Wishes**

* * *

"Mr...Aberforth, Sir?" began Harry unsurely, looking up briefly, even as he continued to sweep the yard outside the Hog's Head. His thin t-shirt was stuck to his back in sweat, but Aberforth, who was watching the boy closely despite also helping out with the work, could see a small smile on Harry's face so he didn't suggest that they take a break. The boy was clearly enjoying the physical work, and Aberforth was grateful for the chance to give it to him. On top of that, his yard had never been in better shape, and his goats had never been happier.

It had been almost a week since the boy had first started working for him, and Harry seemed to have made some progress, not in his work ethic, which had been almost unstoppable from the first moment, but in his whole demeanor. There was still a great deal of awkwardness and unease there, but even so, the boy in front of him now had come on leaps and bounds from the boy he had first met over a week ago. The Weasleys were doing him good; not only was he starting to fill out those gaunt cheeks, but Aberforth had also caught him smiling to himself as he worked, something he couldn't even imagine Harry doing when they'd first come across him. Was the boy - dare he hope - _happy?_

"Not 'Sir', Harry," reminded Aberforth for what must have been the thousandth time in the past week, but he made it clear with a small smile that he wasn't mad at Harry. The boy had been infuriatingly polite and reserved, obviously having got it into his head that because Aberforth was his boss he had to treat him with this ridiculous level of respect. Aberforth had tried to talk with him about it, to reassure him that he had nothing to fear from him, but Harry hadn't quite grasped the concept yet. Not that he blamed the lad; authority figures had obviously been difficult for him to deal with in his past, and those sorts of horrors weren't the type to disappear overnight, no matter how happy he was.

On the other hand, Harry _had_ begun to speak his mind a bit more, often starting conversations rather than waiting to be spoken to, and Aberforth, though he didn't show it, couldn't be more proud of the progress Harry had made. Aberforth hadn't mentioned it to the lad, not wanting to make him conscious of it, but he couldn't help the pleased smile that came on his face every time the boy instigated a conversation. It might not mean a lot to most people, but for someone like Harry, it was a huge step.

"Sorry," Harry muttered, and Aberforth frowned slightly as he paused with his own broom. The boy still apologised far too much.

"Don't worry about it," Aberforth dismissed, slightly annoyed with himself for giving him the wrong impression, and for letting his thoughts get away from him. Carefully, he placed what he hoped was a warm expression on his face. "Now, you had something to ask me?"

"Yeah, erm..." Harry began as he paused in his work as well. "I was wondering...why don't you clean this place up?"

Harry nervously gestured towards the open back door of the pub, and Aberforth found himself hiding a smile once again.

Harry was clearly dreading that he had stepped over the line, shifting as he was nervously from foot to foot. It had taken some time, but Harry was finally, slowly but surely, beginning to offer his own opinion without being asked, and Aberforth didn't want to put him off now, especially since it was, he supposed, a fair question.

"You think I should clean up my pub?" Aberforth tried to clarify. He put down his broom and gestured for Harry to do the same.

"Yeah...I mean..." Harry mumbled as he complied, wiping a pale hand across his sweaty forehead. "Your pub...it is quite...dirty."

"That it is," Aberforth conceded with a shrug, trying to hide his smile once again. "I can't say I've really been bothered about it before."

Albus had been nagging him for years about the dire state of his establishment, encouraging him in that manipulating manner of his to clean it up so that he could have some more...reputable customers. Aberforth had of course resisted, quite happy with his less than reputable customers.

But now that Harry was suggesting it, he thought properly about the suggesting. Aberforth placed a lot more stock in the opinion of the boy in front of him than his high and mighty brother, and now that he considered the issue properly, he realised it wouldn't do any harm...

"Well...I could...you know, help you clean it up," Harry offered, breaking into Aberforth's thoughts. "If you want?"

"You don't like working with my goats?" Aberforth joked, hoping to lighten an atmosphere that had become all too tense, but his comment didn't get the response he'd been going for.

"No...I-I do," Harry awkwardly reassured him, his eyes widening with slight apprehension; he'd clearly thought he'd offended his boss, and Aberforth almost cursed himself when he realised what he'd inadvertently suggested.

The old pub landlord wasn't used to talking to people; everyone usually avoided him, or thought he was mentally deficient or something, so he didn't often have visitors and he was a bit out of practice. Those who did come to the pub often did all the talking so all he'd had to do was listen. Most of the time they'd get it out of their system and be on their way without even waiting for a response from him. That approach clearly wasn't going to work with Harry though; Aberforth would have to make sure he was more careful from now on.

"Harry lad, calm down," Aberforth reassured the boy, making sure his tone was soft. "I was only joking. I suppose a clean-up _is _overdue. I wouldn't mind some help cleaning this place up. Albus has been going on for years about it, and this might just shut him up."

"Oh," Harry said, flushing slightly when Aberforth told him he'd only been joking. He wrung his hands nervously. "Shall we...you know...start now?"

"No, not now lad," Aberforth said with a smile. "You're done for the day. Here."

Aberforth passed him a few coins, a good rate for the work Harry had done, but Aberforth didn't regret it. Hiring the boy gave him the opportunity to act as the lad's therapist of sorts without Harry being too overwhelmed by it. From the first time he'd seen him, Aberforth had known that Harry was all but shut down and he'd wanted to help draw the boy back in whatever way he could. That Harry was a hard worker was merely an added bonus.

Aberforth gestured towards the door to his pub and they made their way, sweaty but satisfied by their work, back into the slightly cooler, but still empty pub. As they walked, he saw Harry put the coins into his pocket with great care, a small smile on his face, and Aberforth couldn't help the smile that followed on his own face.

"Come on, lad," Aberforth said, making sure not to touch him as he gestured Harry towards the fireplace. He'd learnt quickly that Harry usually tensed up when he got too close, but he didn't take it personally. One step at a time. "When you go through the Floo, make sure you get out of the way quick. I'll be coming through after you."

"I can manage on my own," Harry muttered with a scowl, the closest thing to impudent that Harry had gotten in the past week. His independent streak was something else Aberforth had noticed, but the old man didn't see this as much of a problem. Aberforth believed that it was largely that that had kept the boy alive this long, so there was no sense in discouraging it, per se. All he could do was keep giving Harry options and hope one day that he'd choose to let someone help him.

"I know, lad." Aberforth said easily, as he gave Harry a gently nudge towards the Floo power. "I just need a word with Arthur. You go on through, I'll be right behind you."

Harry did so, with a strangely confused look on his face, but if he suspected something was up, the boy chose not to say anything. Aberforth allowed the smile to form on his face once Harry had made it safely through the Floo, hoping that the surprise waiting for Harry at the other end would be worth all the effort the Weasleys had put into it. For once, maybe Harry would get what he had deserved all along.

* * *

Harry spluttered as he stumbled into the Weasley home, still not used to the Floo. Some soot had managed to get into his eyes, causing them to sting and water beneath his glasses, and his hands flew up to his face in a futile attempt to stop more going in.

"Surprise!"

He stumbled back, jolted by the loud noise. Harry blinked rapidly and tried to squint through his watering eyes, panicking slightly. He stepped back quickly until his back hit the wall, unable to see who was in front of him. Harry knew he was high-profile in the Wizarding World, and Aberforth had mentioned that there were still a few people around who might want to cause him harm; had they found him? Were they being attacked?

"Harry, mate," came a soft voice. "It's only us."

Blinking hard once more to try to dispel the soot from his eyes, Harry wiped his hand behind his glasses and turned to face Ron, confusion somewhat overtaking his panic. If they were being attacked, he doubted Ron would react so calmly about it. Slowly his heart rate slowed back to normal, although he was certain he still looked like he had just seen a ghost.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, quietly taking a moment now to look around the room. All the Weasleys were there, even Percy, and for some reason there were balloons and banners covering the small, cosy living room and a small pile of wrapped presents in Mrs Weasleys arms.

Mrs Weasley opened her mouth to answer, but at that moment the fireplace blazed green and through stepped Aberforth, apparently stilling the words in her mouth. The lack of surprise on his face as he looked around at the decorations suggested to Harry that he wasn't at all surprised, and Harry felt his confusion grow with each passing second.

"What...is all this?" Harry repeated, still pale faced from the shock of the yells that had greeted him when he had come through the grate. He took a deep breath and tried to steady his hand; Harry was embarrassed now that he realised that there was no attack. His past continued to haunt him, catching him unaware in everyday situations. It just didn't seem to be leaving him, and Harry hated it. He pushed it away as best he could though, trying to erase the fear from his face. He didn't want the Weasleys to worry.

"You alright there, lad?" asked Aberforth with a frown as he came further into the room. The Weasleys didn't seem at all surprised by the old man's appearance either, so Harry realised he must have been expected. "You look a little pale."

"I'm fine," Harry muttered, his eyes dropping to his feet. The atmosphere had become awkward as Harry shifted slightly from foot to foot. He had no idea what the hell was going on, but at the same time he didn't want to risk saying or assuming wrong. He still was a bit unsure in social situations, largely due to his lack of practice in the last few years.

"Harry, mate," Ron said softly, breaking the awkward silence. "Happy birthday."

Birthday? Harry's furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"Yes, Harry, lad," Aberforth added, frowning as he took in Harry's reaction. "How does it feel to be thirteen?"

Harry, of course, hadn't thought about it until now. His birthdays had meant little to him, and even less to the Dursleys. If they'd ever remembered it, they'd used to occasion to taunt him rather than treat him. Punishments had always been worse on his birthdays, almost as if his uncle had wanted to make a point; he wasn't welcome there and he was never going to be one of them, and they were going to make sure he knew it.

"It's today?" Harry asked, not noticing to concerned glance that Mr Weasley shot his wife. "I'm thirteen today?"

"I reckon so," Aberforth said gruffly, but with a smile. "You did say it was the 31st of July?"

"Yeah, that's right," Harry mumbled, still a little shell-shocked.

"You didn't remember?" prompted Aberforth. Harry shook his head in reply, shrugging unconcernedly.

The Weasley family hadn't moved since they'd tried to surprise Harry, obviously worried that one move would spook him more. Aberforth, who probably knew Harry better than anyone at this point, bar perhaps Ron, seemed to realise that what Harry needed more than anything was reassurance. He moved casually over to Harry, no hesitation in his movement as he placed a hand gently onto his shoulder and directed him to sit on the couch. Harry allowed himself to be guided into the seat, still slightly shocked, but more embarrassed than anything else.

The movement seemed to break the spell in the room, and all at once all the Weasleys moved. Molly, who was almost as pale as Harry, came over to sit beside him, a warm smile on her face despite the obvious worry that was there too. The others gathered around him, waiting expectantly for something.

"Happy birthday, Harry dear," Molly said gently, still holding the small parcels in her hands. "I'm sorry if we scared you."

"I'm fine," Harry mumbled, his cheeks tinged with pink. "Sorry...I just...What's going on?"

Harry gestured to the decorations and balloons around the room, still confused.

"We know you've had a difficult few years, Harry," Mr Weasley explained gently. "Aberforth mentioned that your birthday was coming up, and we thought we'd throw a little celebration for you."

"A celebration?" Harry asked, eyes widened in surprise.

"A party, Harry mate," Ron interjected, concern for his friend still clear on his face. "You can't have a birthday without a party. We wanted to surprise you."

"Oh," Harry said lamely, his eyes dropping to the hands he had rested nervously in his lap.

So it was for him. A real birthday party, something he had been dreaming since he had been old enough to understand exactly what he had always missed out on. Harry turned to Aberforth, his eyes shining slightly with unshed tears.

"You remembered," Harry said quietly.

"I might be an old man," Aberforth said, his gruff voice softer now, "But I'm not senile just yet."

"No one's really ever remembered before..." Harry whispered, although the silence in the room carried his words to everyone.

"Not even before...you know...?" asked Ron awkwardly.

"Not really," Harry mumbled. "Dudley always had parties and presents and stuff, but I never..."

"Well today we'll change that," said one of the twins cheerfully, and although it seemed to be forced slightly, Harry appreciated the effort. "Bring forth the presents!"

"Wait," Harry said, his head shooting up in surprise. "Presents...?"

"Mate, I really hate your relatives," Ron muttered angrily, though Harry knew it wasn't directed at him.

"Presents are an important part of childhood," Mr Weasley said with a frown. "We might not have much money, but we always try to get a few gifts for everyone's birthday. You're a Weasley now, Harry; you're part of this family, and you'll be treated like it."

"Here, Harry, dear," Mrs Weasley said softly as she passed him a small, squishy present. With a shaking hand, Harry took it, quite aware of how big a moment this was. No one, not in his entire life, had ever given him a present at all, let alone a birthday present, and he wanted to savour every second of it, just in case it was a dream.

"Come on, lad," Aberforth said, although his tone was not at all mocking. "I've heard it's common practice to open a present once you've been given one."

Blushing slightly, although certain that Aberforth was not making fun of him, Harry began to nervously pull at the colourful paper, not wanting to rip even that, so important was the present to him. All eyes were on him, warm smiles greeting his emotional reaction, but Harry paid little attention to it. His focus was on the gift in his hand.

Brushing aside the paper with considered care, Harry pulled out his first ever present with shaking hands.

"It's a Weasley jumper," Mrs Weasley explained kindly. "Like Arthur said, you're part of the family now, Harry. Every one of my children gets a jumper at Christmas and on birthdays, and don't think you'll escape."

She said this as if he should complain about the gift, but Harry was certain it was the best thing he had ever owned. Slowly he pulled it over his head, not caring that he was already quite warm from the work he had been doing in Aberforth's yard. The wool was warm, but so soft and comfortable that Harry wasn't sure he would ever want to take it off. It fit perfectly.

"I thought the green would bring out your eyes," Mrs Weasley said lovingly, and Harry his cheeks tinge with pink as he tried to hide the pleased smile on his face.

"She put more effort into yours than she did ours," joked one of the twins. "She must like you more."

Harry gave him a watery smile. He couldn't believe they were including him in this. It was more than he had ever dreamed of.

"Here, Harry," Mr Weasley, holding out another present. "This one was my idea. I hope you like it."

"Th-thank you," Harry stammered, still a little overwhelmed. He took the small package with shaking hands and gave it the same reverential treatment he had given the other present. Although he tried to take his time to savour the moment, he was soon holding in his hands his second ever present, eyes slightly widened as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

_The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien._

"Oh," Harry whispered, slightly overwhelmed. The book was in perfect condition, something he had never had before.

"Is it alright?" Mr Weasley said almost awkwardly. "I wasn't sure if you'd read it before?"

"It's...perfect," Harry whispered running his hand over the smooth and undamaged front cover. "Thank you."

One of his constant daydreams, as he'd tried to pass time on the streets, was what he would do once he had a proper job and money to spend. Top of the list had been a brand new book, and to have that fulfilled now - and in the form of the Hobbit no less – meant more to Harry than he could ever express in words. Instead, he allowed a radiant smile to grace his face, and the mirroring smile on Mr Weasley's expression told Harry that his message had been received and understood.

Before Harry could really comprehend that he was having a proper birthday like normal children, Aberforth added to the presents too.

"I got you a little something as well, lad," the old man said gruffly. "Mind, it's not much but I hope you like it."

Shakily, Harry took hold of the brown paper package. Despite its slightly less decorative wrapping paper, he treated it with as much reverence as the other two presents. He pulled off the wrapping with just as much care, ripping it aside to reveal another two books to add to his collection, but two books that he didn't quite recognise.

"You mentioned that you liked reading, but I reckon you haven't had much chance to read Wizarding novels," Aberforth explained. "I was never much of a reader, but I did like these ones so I thought you'd like them too."

"You didn't have to..." Harry mumbled, running a shaking hand over the pair of them, savouring them as if it was too good to be true.

"I know I didn't," Aberforth said gruffly, "But my family's all but gone now, apart from Albus - and you know we don't really get along. I don't have anyone else to buy for."

"Th-thanks," Harry mumbled, still overwhelmed by the afternoon's events. Harry gulped deeply as he tried to settle his emotions in his chest. The atmosphere grew slightly uncomfortable and the silence grew almost oppressive. No one seemed to know what to say now, and Harry wasn't sure he would ever be able to speak again.

"Right," said Mrs Weasley, clearly doing her best to appear cheerful even though she was still almost as pale as Harry. "Everybody make themselves comfortable. I'll just go and fetch the cake."

"Cake?" asked Harry, turning to Ron.

"Yeah," Ron replied quietly as he sat beside Harry, taking his mother's place at the couch with ease. "Mum always bakes us a cake for our birthdays. She's the best cook in the world!"

Harry opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted when Mrs Weasley came back into the room holding perhaps the biggest cake Harry had ever set eyes on. It looked mouth-wateringly delicious, and Harry couldn't quite grasp that it was all for his birthday. Everything had been more than he had ever even dreamed of.

"That looks great mum!" Ron said, almost drooling as he saw her bring in the cake and place it on the table in front of Harry.

"Yeah, it...looks great Mrs Weasley," Harry agreed quietly though sincerely. "Thank you."

"It's no trouble, dear," she replied warmly, as she handed him a slice.

As he sat munching on the delicious cake, watching as other slicing were passed through the family, Harry felt a bubbling of something rise in his body. He was...happy. So completely and utterly happy. Without even thinking about what he was about to do, Harry took up and walked shakily over to Mrs Weasley who was just about to pass a slice of cake to an eagerly awaiting Ron. Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, trying to express everything that he couldn't get out in words.

Mrs Weasley dropped the plate in her hands in surprise, splattering cake all over the floor, but her husband surreptitiously waved his wand to clean up the mess. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around his thin body, and he felt her warmth envelop him. Mrs Weasley held him like that for a long moment, almost like he imagined a mother would, before releasing him with a gentle and affectionate pat on the cheek.

"You're a good boy, Harry," Mrs Weasley said with a watery smile, a few tears leaking from her sparkling eyes.

Harry returned her smile with sincerity, and no small amount of tears of his own.

* * *

As the party got into full swing, Harry found himself simply watching as the family interacted, for once feeling a part of something so much bigger than himself. For his entire life, Harry had looked after himself, had relied on only his own skills and courage, but now, finally, he had this amazing group of people, this wonderful family to help take some of the burden. A warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with his new jumper, and he felt a sense of contentment, the likes of which he had never experienced before. It was completely new, not necessarily unwelcome, but also quite frightening in what it represented to him.

Suddenly, Harry felt the need to go outside. He needed to feel the cool air on his face, the wind in his hair. He needed to know that this was real.

Silently Harry got up and excused himself from the celebration, making his way through the kitchen to the back door, his heart thudding with a courage he hadn't felt in years. As he stepped out onto the grass, the evening breeze blowing through his hair, Harry released a deep breath and looked towards the sky.

He wasn't scared anymore. He felt like he could handle anything. It was more than a few presents and some cake; the Weasleys had treated him as if he was one of the family, and had included him with not even a second thought.

Harry felt less vulnerable and, for the first time in years, he could see a real future. It wasn't just a dream anymore. It was tangible; he'd almost felt it as he'd sat in that living room surrounded by laughing and joking and cake. He could have a life here.

"Harry?" came a voice from behind him. It took him slightly by surprise, so lost had he been in his thoughts, but he managed to suppress his flinch as Ron came to stand beside him. "You okay?"

Harry nodded. Ron looked at him with a warm smile, and Harry found it easy to return his own. The red head often acted oblivious in situations like this but Harry knew that he understood far more than most people, especially his siblings, gave him credit for.

"I'm just bringing Scabbers out for a bit of fresh air," Ron said casually. "Mum thinks he's getting agitated being cooped up inside all the time."

Harry wondered if that was true; he suspected it wasn't, and that Ron was using it as an excuse to come and check on him but Harry found himself grateful rather than annoyed. He sighed lightly as he watched Ron reach into his cage to pull out the rat and release him on the ground. The rat shot straight off into a nearby hedge and Ron groaned as he put down the cage.

"Scabbers!" he called resignedly, before turning to Harry. "Bloody rat..."

Harry smiled and Ron grinned in reply, obviously not too upset.

"You never know," Ron said, "Maybe he'll run off for good and I'll get a better pet – "

"No such luck boy," growled a voice from the hedge, not far from where Scabbers had just disappeared. Harry started at the new voice, but he'd been lulled into a false sense of security by the last hour or so, and his reactions were far slower than he'd needed them to be.

Harry felt a grimy hand grab his jumper as the man pulled himself out of the hedge. Harry struggled against it with all his might, but the hand was clamped too tightly and he couldn't break free. Before he could even think of yelling for help, the other hand hit him sharply around the head, knocking him off balance and causing his head to spin.

"Harry!" cried Ron as he tried to fight of the stranger, but he too got a cuff for his trouble.

"Shut it, boy," threatened the man angrily, grabbing hold of Ron as well. "You're coming with me."

The boys both struggled for a few more moments, almost clawing at the man holding them, but before they could get away, Harry felt a twisting sensation start at his naval, pulling him seemingly through the very air. His insides felt like they were being turned inside out, and his head was banging from the hit as the world continued to spin for several seconds.

When they finally landed, Harry fell to the floor as his body seemed to collapse onto itself. The man who had attacked them released their jumpers and he and Ron scrambled away until their backs hit the wall with twin thuds. Slowly, Ron turned to face him, a bruise already starting to form on his face as his terrified eyes met Harry's. Wherever they were, it was dark, but Harry could see the horror and fear on his friend's face as if it was day, and he had no doubt the expression was mirrored on his own face.

Blinking slowly as he tried to see through the darkened room, one thing was clear.

They weren't at the Burrow anymore.

* * *

**A/N-** I can't seem to let Harry be happy, can I? I hope you enjoyed it while it lasted, because things are going to get pretty tough for him and Ron in the next couple of chapters. I really would appreciate comments on this chapter, more so than usual, because I'm really not sure if the end feels rushed or not. Please let me know what you think!

By the way, I assume it's fairly clear who's kidnapped them, but for those who haven't worked it out, all will become clear in the next chapter. It might seem a bit out of the blue, but I've been planning this stage of the story for a while. I've waited until now, because I wanted to do it after Harry had made a little progress, but before he'd had much magical training. I hope you don't hate me for it!

Thanks for all the support for the last chapter, and I hope you like this one just as much. Thanks for reading!


	18. Back on the Street

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 17: Back on the Street**

* * *

"Harry," whispered Ron, his eyes wide in terror as he turned towards Harry. As soon as he had released them, the kidnapper had turned his attention elsewhere, but although the black-haired boy was glad that the bastard hadn't started on them yet, the fact that he didn't seem worried about their escape from this place did nothing to relax Harry. "What do we do - ?"

"Shh," Harry hissed, equally scared and unable to hide it. Ron must have seen the terror in his eyes because he closed his mouth almost immediately. Harry looked anxiously over to the kidnapper, but thankfully the man was still ignoring them for the moment.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Harry looked around the new location with desperation, hoping that there was some way they could get out of this. His heart was beating loudly in his chest, so much so that he could almost hear it through his brand new, and very thick, Weasley jumper, but he clenched his fists tightly to push past the fear. There had to be some way out, some escape. He hated being trapped, almost more than anything else, and the fact that he was trapped with someone who undoubtedly meant him harm caused Harry's stomach to contract in almost debilitating terror.

In fact, the only reason Harry was currently holding it together at all was down to the fact that Ron had been kidnapped as well. The strange, unhinged man was clearly dangerous and Harry was scared just as much for the life of his friend as he was for his own. Ron had little experience in situations like this, so it was up to him to save them. He had to be strong. There had to be something...

"Do you have your wand?" Harry whispered, keeping an anxious eye on the kidnapper.

Wordlessly, Ron shook his head in reply, and Harry felt the beginnings of despair rip through him. From the way the man had transported them here, Harry was sure that he must be magical. But if neither he nor Ron had their wands, how on earth were they going to fight him?

Harry's head was throbbing from where the man had hit him, and confusion was warring with fear as he sought an escape from this desperate situation. Where had the man come from? There were supposed to be wards around the Weasley property that were meant to stop this sort of thing happening. He was supposed to have been safe there...

Squinting in the darkened room, Harry could just about make out the man who had kidnapped them as he searched frantically for something, overturning a set of shelves in his desperation. The room they had landed in looked like a normal living room, albeit one in pretty dire condition, so Harry guessed they were in a house or flat of some sort. Oddly though, it looked like no one had lived there in a long time. There was a layer of dust on the floor where he and Ron were still cowering against the wall, and Harry suspected that the rest of the room wasn't much better. Even in the dark, Harry could see spider webs dotted all over the ceiling, and the room had a damp and musty smell to it that immediately reminded Harry of his old, abandoned pub.

Still looking for a way out, Harry had to hold back a groan when he realised that there was only one door and it was currently being blocked by the small man as he continued to search frantically for something in any cupboard or drawer he could see, muttering to himself as he did so. Harry glanced to his side and saw confusion amidst the fear in Ron's face as he too followed the kidnapper's movements. The redheaded boy clearly had no idea who the stranger was and neither did Harry. Harry didn't know whether to be happy it wasn't someone from his past, or not.

Outwardly, the man didn't seem so much of a threat. He was an extremely short man with fair but balding hair, who looked like he had once been fat but had recently lost a lot of weight. In fact, had they not been taken by surprise, Harry thought he and Ron could have probably freed themselves from him eventually; the man looked weedy, but Harry knew that there was some strength in him since he had already overpowered them once. Harry wasn't particularly big, but he'd always been a fighter, so to overcome him was no mean feat. Despite the aching in his body from the brief struggle, at least Harry now knew not to underestimate the kidnapper at any rate.

Harry flinched hard as the man swung round rapidly, looking back towards them with an angry gleam in his small, watery eyes. His fist was clenched around a wand that he hadn't had originally; it seemed, Harry thought with a sinking sensation in his chest, that the man had found what he was looking for.

"Harry Potter," the man growled, his voice slightly squeaky and hoarse as if from lack of use. As he made his way towards the two boys cowering against the wall in fear, Harry could see him more clearly. He looked like someone Harry could have conceivably met on the streets, with gaunt cheeks and dirty, ratty clothes. Not for the first time, Harry wracked his mind to see if he had met the man before, but he was almost certain he hadn't; he was sure he would remember that strange rat-like face.

The kidnapper stopped just short of him and Ron, clenching his pale, pudgy hand around his wand threateningly, and Harry shrunk against the wall, desperately trying to control the shaking in his limbs.

Harry knew that he couldn't afford to react like he had when Malfoy had shoved him. In fact, that sort of reaction could get him killed here, Ron too. He had to keep control of himself, like he had during the long, lonely months he had lived on the streets. He couldn't let his guard down for even one second, especially in the presence of this unstable man. It was time to bring his street-kid side back.

One of his most important rules? Survival.

"W-what do you want?" Harry stammered, raising his head defiantly as best he could. He knew from experience that he had to at least appear strong. Sometimes it helped to appear weaker than in reality, to lull the attacker into a false sense of security, but he wasn't sure that would work in this case.

"What do I-I want?" the man asked loudly, his own voice shaking slightly. To Harry, he seemed unstable, as if he could explode at any moment. That didn't bode well for Harry and Ron; instability meant unpredictability, and unpredictability never meant good things. The strange rat-like man could attack at any moment. "I want you!"

"Well you're not having him!" Ron replied bravely, scooting himself closer to Harry. Harry felt his own courage grow from the gesture, and despite the fact that Ron's life was in danger as well, Harry couldn't help but be glad he had his friend by his side.

"W-who are you?" Harry demanded, pulling himself shakily to his feet. The lessons he'd learnt on the streets came easily back to him now; always be ready to run.

"Your father knew me as Wormtail," the man replied, for the first time looking at Harry with something other than hate. The look was unreadable, but Harry couldn't help but be disgusted. "You look just like him."

That stopped Harry short, and for a second he wasn't sure he could breathe.

"You...you knew my dad?" Harry said, a horrible feeling starting to bubble in his stomach. He gulped down a deep breath, but he couldn't seem to stay calm no matter how much he knew he needed to.

"We were friends," Wormtail sneered shakily, looking as if he was caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry. Harry felt fear run through him, chilling him to the core as if it were ice.

"You're...lying," Harry replied shakily. He grabbed the wall to steady himself as his head spun dangerously. The man who had kidnapped them might look weak but Harry had learnt the hard way that even weak looking people could do damage. Harry was wary of underestimating this man, especially now that he had a wand.

"Who are you?" demanded Ron before Wormtail could speak again.

"I'm surprised you don't recognise me, Ron," Wormtail sneered nastily, turning his attention to Harry's friend. Ron to his credit pulled himself to his feet as well so that he could stand defiantly by his friend. Harry could see his hands shaking slightly though. "You've known me for a very long time..."

"What do you m-mean?" stammered Ron in shock, the statement taking him by surprise.

"Scabbers," Wormtail said simply, and Harry felt a sense of foreboding begin to rise within him.

"S-Scabbers?" Ron stammered confusedly, his head snapping up. "Where is he? What did you do to him!?"

"Nothing!" Wormtail replied manically. "I _am_ him!"

"You're insane!" Harry said in disbelief as Ron stared open-mouthed at Wormtail. Harry knew from experience that he had to act like he was strong, even if he had never felt more scared in his life.

Even including every bad thing that had ever happened in his life, Harry was sure he'd never been in a worse fix.

Not only had he been kidnapped, but he was in a place he didn't know and the person who had kidnapped was a Wizard, and an unstable one at that. He had no idea how to fight off a Wizard because, despite the fact that he had been aware of the Wizarding world for around two weeks now, he still didn't know all that much about magic. His lessons with Mrs Weasley and the Hogwarts Professors weren't supposed to start for a week or two, and although Harry had started to read through the books they'd picked up at Diagon Alley, he knew he'd really only brushed the surface on what he needed to know. The only option they had was to try to survive long enough for help to come. He was sure someone must have noticed they were missing by now.

"You're absolutely mental!" Ron agreed, apparently having pulled himself out of the stupor.

"Shut it, boy!" yelled Wormtail unexpectedly, moving quickly towards them both. Harry stood his ground, but his heart was beating so loudly in his chest that he was sure it would explode out of him. He was terrified by the unknown in this situation, but Ron didn't seem to be faring much better, and if possible, that thought scared him more.

Wormtail moved threateningly over to Ron, wand raised towards the redhead as if he was about to curse him. Harry panicked and stood in front of his friend, his hands raised defensively in front on himself as if that would make any difference against a spell. The man could probably kill them with a wave of his wand.

This realisation felt like a punch in his chest, and whatever colour had remained in his face left quickly. Harry decided, then and there, that he wasn't going down without a fight. He was going to try to defend himself and his friend, even if there was no possible.

"What the hell do you want, you bastard!?" Harry growled, keeping his body between Ron and the mad man. The man hadn't used his wand yet, and Harry couldn't be more thankful for that small mercy.

"W-what do I want?" stuttered Wormtail madly, his wand still pointing towards them. He giggled nervously, and Harry flinched back slightly at the unexpected noise. The man kept switching between confident one minute to scared out of his wits the next, and it was a frightening thing to witness. "I want you!"

"Why?" Harry asked desperately. "Why us?"

"The Dark Lord will reward me," muttered Wormtail in reply, and Harry felt his insides freeze as realisation hit him.

"Voldemort is dead –"

"Do not speak his name!" Wormtail swung an arm out erratically and struck Harry across the face. Harry's neck snapped back with the blow and he felt blood spurt out of his nose as he fell back onto Ron.

"Hey!" yelled Ron, trying to hold Harry steady as he stepped from behind his friend to face the man. "Leave him alone!"

"Shut up!" cried Wormtail angrily, pointing his wand in Ron's direction. Ron fliched but otherwise he stayed frozen where he was. Wormtail looked out of control for a moment, but Ron stayed silent, and after a few moments Wormtail seemed to pull himself together. Harry, who had a hand pressed tightly to his nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding, felt apprehension rise up in him.

"The Dark Lord is not dead." Wormtail continued much more calmly this time. Harry felt more scared now than ever. "With you in my power, He w-will return. He will come back to full greatness and He will reward me beyond all others!"

"Go to hell!" Harry yelled bravely. "That bastard killed my parents! I hope he rots!"

Wormtail gripped his wand even more tightly, knuckles turning white as he clenched against the dark wood.

"You will help me," Wormtail said somewhat desperately, a small trace of fear finding its way back onto his face.

"Never!" yelled Harry defiantly, squaring his shoulders.

Wormtail raised his hand angrily, and Harry couldn't help but prevent a flinch at the sudden movement. Instead of hitting him though, Wormtail grabbed Harry by the jumper, pulling him close enough for Harry to smell the stench of desperation around the man.

"You defeated the Dark Lord last time, Potter!" growled Wormtail threateningly. "This time y-you will help bring him back!"

"I was a baby, you bastard!" Harry cried, the grip on him slightly painful. "I don't even remember that night! It was only recently that I found out my parents didn't die in a bloody car crash!"

"No-o. You...you have to help me!" Desperation and fear were back on Wormtail's face. In fact, Harry felt the smallest bit of pity at how scared the man was. Why on earth did he want to bring back someone who scared him that much?

"I can't, you mad man!" Harry ground out desperately, pushing aside any pity he felt for the man. His head was throbbing badly now, and his nose was still bleeding.

"You will help me, Potter," Wormtail stated, and before Harry could register the movement, the man pushed him away so that he hit the wall with a thud. Harry was momentarily stunned by his release but his relief was short-lived. Whilst Harry had been unable to fight back, Wormtail had grabbed Ron instead, and was pointing his wand at the red-head's throat. Harry paled and he felt his stomach clench in fear.

Ron was struggling valiantly, but Wormtail had a good grip on him. Harry had to do something. He couldn't let Ron get hurt because of him...

"Leave him alone!" Harry cried. Clenching his fists, Harry charged towards Wormtail before the bastard could even consider doing a spell, head-butteding the man in the stomach with all the strength he had left in his aching body. Wormtail staggered back, taken by surprise at the sudden move, but Harry fell with him, crashing to the ground with a thud. Pushing the pain to the back of his mind, like he had had to do so often in his young life, Harry used the fact that Wormtail was momentarily stunned by the unexpected attack to knock away the man's wand.

"Ron, run!" Harry yelled, crying out in pain as his ankle twisted under the larger man in their struggle. Ron had been thrown to the side when Wormtail had fallen, but within seconds the redhead had pulled himself to his feet. He seemed pale, but otherwise unharmed.

Ron ignored Harry's call and charged over to the two of them as the continued to struggle on the floor. Harry felt Ron shove Wormtail over, who hit the floor with a smack and stilled immediately. Wasting no time, Ron began to pull him out from underneath the heavy man, desperation and fear clear in the boy's face despite the darkness of the room. Wormtail might have looked like he could use a few square meals, but the man was no lightweight, and it took some force, and no small amount of pain, before Harry was free.

Harry gasped in pain as Ron pulled him to his feet, his ankle collapsing as soon as he tried to put any weight on it.

"C'mon, mate," Ron said fearfully, pulling Harry's arm over his shoulder to act as a crutch. "We need to get out of here."

"Wormtail?" Harry ground out as he grimaced in pain, trying desperately to twist around to see where the man was.

"Steady, Harry," Ron replied, sounding worried as he half-carried Harry to the door. "He's unconscious at the moment, I think. Hit his head on the floor. I don't know how long that'll last though, so we better move."

Ron fumbled with the door, struggling slightly as he held Harry up. As soon as it was open, they stumbled out and hobbled along the corridor and down the stairs as quickly as possible.

In mere minutes, they burst out onto the street, panting as they continued to struggle on in desperation without looking back. The night-time air was cold, and their clothes offered little protection against the chill. It was late so the street was empty, but Harry knew it was only a matter of time before Wormtail woke up, so they couldn't afford to wait until daylight to get help.

"We...we need to find somewhere to hide," Harry told Ron, grimacing in pain as they hobbled along. They weren't travelling in any particular direction, but Harry had been taking careful note of the area they were in, and he was sure he recognised the memorial they had just passed. He had been here before...

"That way," Harry said, nodding to a dark side street off to their left.

"You know where we are?" Ron asked as he continued to support Harry, whose ankle was feeling worse and worse by the minute. The rest of him wasn't feeling to good either, and he was glad for the fact that his friend was there to help him.

"Think so," Harry replied with difficulty. His head was really starting to throb and dizziness was building from the back of his mind. "Wandsworth."

"Wandsworth?" Ron asked, the beginnings of hope spreading across his face. "Is that a Wizarding town?"

"Don't think so," Harry answered, and Ron's face dropped. "It's in muggle London. I stayed here for a bit. You know...a while ago. It's fairly safe."

"Do you think you can find somewhere for us to hide out?"

"There's an old factory near here, I think," Harry replied as they struggled on. "I stayed there for a few nights. There's no heating, but it's summer so we should be alright."

"Old factory it is," Ron said, clearly trying to inject enthusiasm into his voice as he continued to support Harry. "Lead the way, my friend!"

A small smile momentarily displaced the grimace on Harry's face at Ron's effort. He felt a burst of new strength flow through him from the mere gesture, and sped up in the direction he hoped would take them to safety, Ron's arm never leaving his side.

* * *

It didn't take long for them to make it to the place Harry remembered. Even with his aching ankle, the walk hadn't been too bad with Ron supporting him. Dread filled him whenever he let his mind dwell on Wormtail though, and he was finding it difficult to control his shaking limbs, even with the distance they had put between them and the mad man. Harry was scared out of his wits, even more so now that the adrenaline was wearing off. He and Ron were in bad shape and he didn't think he'd be able to put up much of a fight if somehow Wormtail managed to find them. Harry could only hope that the man was still unconscious, and that they were safe enough here.

Pushing aside his unhelpful thoughts as best he could, Harry pulled his arm from Ron's shoulder and hobbled painfully over to the small door that he knew led into the factory. Harry let out a sigh of relief when he saw that security hadn't been improved since last time he had been here. The hinge was still weak, and it only took a small push for Harry to force his way in. Harry gestured for Ron to follow him, but he didn't speak. It might be late, but he didn't want to bring any unwanted attention to them.

Luckily the area was deserted. They would have had a hard time blending in, looking like they did. Harry's face and chest were covered in blood, and the grimace around his mouth showed the pain he felt as he hobbled through the door. Ron, for his part, was covered in some of Harry's blood as well, but had his own injury on his forehead just above his eye as well.

Once they were both safely inside, Ron replaced the door and turned to Harry.

"What do we do now?" he asked, his eyes betraying his fear.

"We wait," Harry replied evenly as he surveyed the deserted factory floor. It looked like they would be safe here tonight at least, and Harry felt a small amount of the tension leave him.

"Can't we call for help?" Ron asked slightly desperately. He didn't particularly look pleased about having to stay the night here, but made no move to complain and Harry was grateful for that.

"How?" Harry replied as he pulled himself over to a dusty corner. He slumped down until his back was against the wall, still facing the door just in case they had an unexpected visitor. "Neither of us have our wands, and I have no idea where the entrance the Diagon Alley is. We'll just have to wait until someone finds us. I'm sure they're looking by now."

"What if Wormtail finds us?" Ron asked fearfully as he came over to sit by Harry. Even in the dark factory, Harry could see how pale his friend looked, but he couldn't pretend that everything was alright. The truth of the matter was, Harry was terrified too.

"We'll need to take it in turn to be on watch," Harry answered grimly. "Just in case he does find us."

"I'll take first watch," Ron said firmly, a stubborn look on his face that told Harry that he wasn't going to take no for an answer. "No offence mate, but you look like shit."

"Head wounds bleed more," Harry muttered stubbornly. "It doesn't mean it's serious."

"I'll take first watch," Ron repeated, looking over to Harry expectantly.

Harry knew, by the look in the boy's eyes alone, that Ron was not going to be budged on this, so he just admitted defeat, too exhausted to argue. Pulling himself down until he was lying on his back, Harry tried to will his aching body to relax.

"Sorry this happened on your birthday, Harry," Ron said sadly as he looked down at his friend.

"S'alright," Harry muttered tiredly. He tried to give Ron a reassuring grin, but it probably came out more like a grimace. "This is actually one of my better birthdays believe it or not."

"That isn't something to be happy about, mate," Ron said with a frown.

"Why not?" Harry replied, his eyes closing almost against his will. "We're alive, aren't we? Think of it as an adventure. It'll help. It used to help me, anyway."

"An adventure," Ron mused softly. "Like Frodo and Sam?"

"You've read it?" Harry asked, opening his eyes a crack to look towards his friend.

Ron blushed slightly. "Dad used to read it to me. He's read it to all of us. I've forgotten most of it though."

"You can borrow mine," Harry offered tentatively, allowing his eyes to fall closed again. "You know...if you want?"

"Yeah, I'd like that," Ron replied softly, obviously trying to keep his voice quiet. "If you don't mind, that is?"

"I don't mind," Harry replied tiredly. "I've, erm...I've never had anyone to share anything with before..."

"Well you've got me now," Ron replied brightly. He was obviously trying hard to keep the tone light, and Harry was glad for the effort. "I'd offer to share something of mine too, but you're my brother now, so everything I have is pretty much yours anyway."

Harry opened his eyes again, scared that he'd find some resentment in his friend's expression. To Harry's relief though, Ron simply smiled reassuringly, and Harry knew in that moment that the redhead would never resent his presence in Weasley family. It meant more to him than even his birthday party had, and that was saying something.

"The only thing I really owned of any value was Scabbers," Ron continued absently, still keeping his voice low. "And he turned out to be a bloody wizard."

Harry snorted. It wasn't funny really, but Ron shot his friend a grin, and Harry felt himself return it. Not for the first time, Harry realised how lucky he was to have met the Weasleys.

With a faint grin on his face, Harry met his friend's eyes. "I'm glad you're here, Ron."

"Me too, mate." Ron replied softly as Harry closed his eyes again. "Wouldn't miss this adventure for the world."

* * *

**A/N- **I'm really nervous about posting this chapter for some reason. There's quite a lot of action in this one, and I'm not sure I've pulled it off. I think I'm much better at the angsty stuff, but I felt the story needed something like this to happen. There are a few reasons why I chose to go in this direction and hopefully things will make a bit more sense when I've explained why I've done this.

Firstly, from the moment the Weasleys enter the story, Harry is turned from an independent street-kid into this unsure, scared, traumatised young boy. In my opinion, this is still in character, especially considering what he's been through, but at the same time, it isn't his whole character. Although I hope I've shown this already in small bits, I wanted to explore the other side to him, where he is a bit more confident and brave and resilient. He didn't survive for two years on the streets by accident, and this new story arch will hopefully explore a side to him that we haven't really seen yet.

Secondly, I made a conscious decision to include Ron in Harry's return to the streets, simply because I wanted steer clear of any abandonment or depression issues that might result from him being alone on the streets again. By including Ron, Harry knows he isn't alone, and he has with him a living reminder that he has a family now. I didn't want him to relapse and go back to square one again, when he'd made such progress in the last couple of chapters. It would be boring to go through it all again, and truthfully, I think it's a bit unfair to you readers!

Also, having Ron there is important for another reason. In the books, Ron and Harry's friendship is solidified by the life and death adventures that they go on together. Because my story begins when they are thirteen-ish, they've missed out on what the adventures of the Philosopher's Stone and the Chamber of Secrets gave them in the books. I know they had a run in with some thugs when they first met, but that isn't the same. I wanted a plausible adventure for them to go together, so that their friendship ends up with a similar feel to it as it does in canon. Hopefully it'll work.

Lastly, I'm well aware that Pettigrew is a bit out of character, but it was necessary for the plot. A lot of things will be happening now because of his reappearance, so I needed him to come out of hiding when he ordinarily wouldn't. My explanation is that he's shocked by Harry's reappearance in the Wizarding World, and has convinced himself that it's a sign. He's still scared and spineless, but he's a little more confident than he was in canon. He was overpowered by two thirteen year olds though, so I think he's still partially in character at least.

Oh, and as a final note, Wandsworth is a real place in London. I was there recently and thought it would be the perfect place for the boys to find themselves.

Anyway, sorry for the long authors note. Hopefully it's cleared a few things up, but if anyone still has any questions, feel free to ask away, and I'll definitely do my best to answer. Thanks for all the support, but most of all, thanks for reading!


	19. Survival of the Fittest

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 18: Survival of the Fittest**

* * *

Remus Lupin was furious, and for once he had no intention of hiding it.

He was usually a quiet, reserved and patient man, his calm disposition doing a lot to temper the often misplaced enthusiasm of James and Sirius during their school days, but, as he strode through the halls of Hogwarts some twenty years later now, Remus was instead desperately trying to taper down the urge to punch the wall, no matter how much he knew it would hurt. Anger coursed through his veins as he charged down the corridor, with only one thought on his mind.

Why, until now, had no one told him that Harry had been found?

* * *

"Albus," nodded Arthur as he came through the Floo into the Headmaster's office. The Headmaster was not seated at his desk, and Arthur knew from the man's tense posture that Dumbledore had been pacing his office before his arrival. Arthur barely dwelt on it though, pushing aside the useless thoughts as he made to greet the man; he was worried enough himself.

Arthur clenched his fists, the whiteness of his knuckles showing just how worried he really was. The boys had been missing all night, and still they knew nothing. There were no new leads; none whatsoever. They were running out of options.

And time.

"There has been no sign," Albus said gravely, merely confirming what he already knew. Arthur's heart clenched in his chest, but he forced himself to remain calm. It wouldn't do Harry and Ron any good to panic.

"How did they manage it?" Arthur asked, frustration clear in his voice. "How did those bloody kidnappers manage to get through the wards!?"

"I do not know, Arthur," Albus replied gravely, and Arthur felt fear ripple through him at the thought; the Headmaster always seemed to know everything, so the fact that he didn't have any answers terrified the Weasley patriarch. "The wards that I put in place were strong. No one should have been able to come through who was not welcome."

Arthur sighed, trying to let the anger he felt towards the man go, knowing it wasn't really Dumbledore's fault. In truth, Arthur was just as mad at himself for letting Harry and Ron out of his sight. They'd all been lulled into a false sense of security, and now they'd paid the price for their carelessness. In truth though, it didn't matter who was to blame; not at the moment. All that mattered was getting them back.

"We'll find them, Arthur," the Headmaster said, but the absent twinkle in his eyes showed the man's lack of confidence in his own words. "Alastor Moody is working on tracking the signature of the Portkey as we speak. Hopefully he will be able to establish a location for where the boys were taken. Also, Severus has agreed to move about Voldemort's remaining circle to see if there has been any talk of a kidnapping attempt. Discreetly, of course."

"Of course," Arthur mumbled absently, his brow furrowed upon hearing the news. He honestly didn't know what to make of Severus Snape. From everything he had heard, particularly from his children, Snape was an awful teacher, and a downright bitter and impatient human being. On the other hand, according to Ron, the man had truly done them a huge favour by dealing with Draco Malfoy after the incident at Diagon Alley last week. Severus Snape was truly an enigma, but if he brought Harry and Ron home safe, he'd never say another word against the man.

"I've also asked Lupin to join the search," continued Dumbledore interrupting Arthur's thoughts.

"Remus Lupin?" Arthur asked, slightly confused at the announcement. He knew the man had been friends with the Potters and the traitor Black, but he didn't know much else. Lupin had barely been seen in the last few years; he was one of the few remaining Order members who had still been searching for Harry right up to the present day. Some say he had become slightly obsessive about it actually...

"Yes," confirmed Dumbledore. "After being so involved in the search for Harry, he likely knows the best places to start looking."

Dumbledore glanced at his strange pocket watch, a watch that made no sense to anyone but him it seemed. Arthur had more questions but he was reluctant to interrupt the Headmaster when he was so deep in concentration.

"In fact," Dumbledore began, meeting Arthur's eyes again as he put the pocket watch away. "I believe Mr Lupin will be here momentarily."

Almost the second after the words had left the Headmaster's mouth, there was a stern knocking on the door to the office, and not for the first time, Arthur wondered how the old man did it.

"Come in," Dumbledore called, taking a seat behind his desk and gesturing for Arthur to sit down also.

As he tentatively took a seat, Arthur watched as a thin, tired-looking man marched through the door, amber eyes flashing in anger. The man must have only been in his thirties, but his grey hair and heavily scarred face gave the impression of someone much older.

"Dumbledore!" Lupin growled, ignoring Arthur altogether.

"Ah, Remus," Dumbledore replied calmly, not at all put off by the angry tone of the man. "Thank you joining us. Arthur, this is Remus Lupin."

"Nice to meet you," Arthur said quietly, and he was greeted to a small nod before the man turned his attention back to the Headmaster.

"Harry is alive," Lupin hissed, and Arthur flinched at the anger contained in the man's voice.

"Yes, he is," Dumbledore confirmed gently. Arthur thought he saw a flash of guilt cross the Headmaster's face, but after a moment it was gone and Arthur was left wondering if he'd imagined it. "He has been found."

"And you didn't think to tell me!?" Lupin yelled suddenly, marching over to Dumbledore's desk in an anger. "You didn't think I might want to know!?"

"I was not hiding it from you for anyone's sake but his own," Dumbledore replied softly, not denying the man's words at all. "The boy has been through a lot, Remus. More than we could ever understand. I wanted to give him some time to get used to the idea of being in our world."

"Who has he been staying with then?" Lupin demanded, although it seemed as if some of the anger was already leaving him.

"Ah, that would be me," Arthur interjected uncertainly, trying to keep calm in the face of the furious man. Lupin turned his glare on Arthur, but after a moment of eye contact the anger seemed to melt away completely, replaced instead by worry.

"How is he?" The words were filled with pain, and Arthur felt pity run through him at what the man must have been going through in the last few days.

"He's...okay," Arthur began carefully. "He has some...issues, of course, but he truly is a wonderful boy. He's become part of the family in the last few weeks and I honestly couldn't imagine life without him. He and my son Ron are already like brothers."

"He's happy?"

"Yes," Arthur replied a small smile on his face. It only took a moment for it to fade however, his thoughts falling quickly back to why he was even here in the first place. "At least, I think he is. He's just...He and Ron are missing...they were...They're gone and..."

"It's okay Arthur," Dumbledore interrupted gently before turning to Lupin to explain. "Harry and Ron are missing. They were taken sometime last night, and haven't been seen since. Remus, we need your help."

A look of determination fixed itself so clearly onto the younger man's face that Arthur felt some of his own panic fade slightly. Lupin looked like he would got to the ends of the earth to find the boys, and Arthur felt his respect for the man rise almost immediately.

Remus nodded once in answer to the plea for help, no reluctance in his expression, and Arthur found himself returning the nod, filled with his own determination. They would find them, no matter what it took.

* * *

"Ron." A hand shook his shoulder gently, and Ron groaned as he felt the cocoon of sleep begin to leave him as his senses took hold. The first thing he noticed, somewhat unusually, was that he was cold. "Ron.'

"Hmm?" Ron grunted as he reluctantly opened his eyes, squinting as they adjusted slowly to the brightness of the morning light. His body ached, and it took him a few moments to work out why he wasn't waking up in his warm, comfortable bed, with the smell of breakfast wafting up the stairs. When he finally remembered the events of last night; the kidnapping, escaping from Wormtail, and then their night spent in an abandoned factory, Ron felt the panic come back almost as if it had never left. Alertness came back to him quickly, his eyes snapping around to meet those of his friend.

Harry had woken up after only a few hours last night, and Ron, who had stayed awake to keep a look out, knew straightaway that the black-haired boy had had a nightmare. Harry had begun muttering in his sleep almost as soon as he had closed his eyes, tossing and turning as he tried to fight off an unknown attacker. It had worried Ron more than he could say, but once a newly awoken Harry had turned to face him, sweat still covering his pale face, Ron had merely smiled at the boy, trying to reassure Harry, without words, that everything was okay. It had been clear that Harry didn't want to talk about it, so Ron hadn't mentioned the nightmare, a fact for which Harry had seemed grateful for. Harry had then immediately offered to take over watch, and Ron had eventually agreed, exhaustion finally creeping up on him. Ron had always known Harry suffered from fairly intense nightmares, but he hadn't witnessed one yet. It was a little harrowing to be honest, but Ron couldn't blame the boy. Ron wouldn't be surprised if he suffered from a few nightmares of his own after this.

"Ron, come on," Harry said, looking a little better than he had last night. "You need to get up."

"We need to go?" Ron mumbled, his tired mind not quite fully awake yet. Harry, though, seemed completely alert, and not to mention anxious. He'd obviously cleaned the blood from his face, leaving a sore looking nose behind, but Ron was more concerned with Harry's ankle. The boy had barely been able to walk on it last night.

"How's the foot, mate?" he asked, concerned.

"Better," replied Harry, testing it by putting a little weight on it. From the grimace on his face, Ron knew that it was still hurting the boy, but Harry was incredibly stubborn, and if he said it was better, there wasn't a lot Ron could do to change his mind.

"Look, we're not safe here," Harry continued as he helped to pull Ron from up from the floor. "Wormtail is too close. We need to keep moving."

"Don't you think," Ron began unsurely. "Well...don't you think we should wait for someone to find us?"

"Ron...do you trust me?" Harry asked tentatively, and Ron saw the uncertainty in his eyes. Ron knew that Harry was incredibly insecure, but he also knew that if there was anybody in the world he could trust right now, it was Harry.

Wordlessly Ron nodded his head, trying to convey sincerity in his eyes. It seemed to have worked; Ron saw the relief flash across his friend's face and couldn't help but be glad he'd done the right thing.

"We need to keep moving," Harry repeated firmly, and this time, Ron offered no further suggestions. If anyone could keep him alive until his parents found them, it was Harry.

Harry sighed softly, and dropped his eyes before continuing. "Look, you don't know what it's going to be like. The streets...well, it's going to be like nothing you've ever done before. It's...dangerous, Ron, and that's not even including Wormtail finding us. We need to keep on the move and stay in hiding."

"Just tell me what to do," Ron said softly, marvelling slightly at the change he could see in his friend already. Harry had gone from an unsure, nervous kid, into a strong, confident street kid. It was kind of scary to see actually, and as Ron looked into Harry's eyes, he was suddenly very glad they were on the same side.

"You stay here for now," Harry told him, gesturing to the corner where they'd spent the night. "I'm going to go and get us some things that we'll need."

"I'll come with you," Ron offered immediately.

"No offence, but I'll be quicker without you," Harry replied tentatively, and Ron nodded to show that he wasn't offended in the slightest. He knew he would be next to useless here, and he really was relying on Harry to know what to do.

"You're not going to...steal anything, are you?" Ron asked uncomfortably, and was slightly regretful at his words when Harry's cheeks flushed with slight embarrassment.

"No," replied Harry tightly, although he didn't seem annoyed, and for that Ron was grateful. "I have...some money. Some savings..."

Slowly, Harry reached down to his sock, and Ron watched on with barely disguised curiosity and confusion. After a moment, Ron saw Harry pull some paper from his sock.

"It's muggle money," Harry explained, having noticed the confused look on Ron's face. "I've...I keep it, just in case."

Ron nodded, not sure what else to say. He knew Harry was still struggling to overcome his life before he'd met them, but Ron had never quite understood that struggle until now. Harry had felt safe with them, happy even, but he still hadn't been able to completely let go of his doubts. There was still a part of the boy who was preparing for the worst. Just in case...

"Be careful," Ron said softly, as Harry moved towards the door.

"I will," replied Harry, a look of determination flashing across his face. "You too."

Ron nodded in reply and settled himself back in the corner, watching as Harry made his way cautiously out onto the street. He was limping slightly, but he hadn't complained, and Ron knew in that moment, that he would follow Harry anywhere. He was tough, tougher than he had seemed in the last few weeks, and Ron found himself incredibly grateful that he could see this side of his friend. He already held immense respect for Harry, but it was growing by the second.

For the first time since they had been kidnapped, Ron allowed a calm breath to leave him. It might not be an ideal situation, and he was still terrified to his very core, but so long as he had Harry with him, Ron knew he could handle it.

Somehow, he knew they'd be alright.

* * *

Harry moved stealthily back through the door to the factory, a small bag of supplies in his hand. It hadn't taken him long, despite his still aching ankle, to get the stuff they would need. His lessons from the street hadn't quite been forgotten yet, but Harry felt glad for them now. Hopefully they would keep them alive...

"Ron," Harry whispered, his body tense in case he needed to bolt. He really hoped his friend was okay. He'd been reluctant to leave Ron behind but he knew he'd be quicker and stealthily without him. Thankfully, Ron hadn't argued.

"Harry?" came a voice from the other side of the factory, and Harry felt his heart flutter slightly in relief.

"I'm back," Harry said somewhat needlessly as he walked over to where Ron had settled.

"Did you bring food," Ron said hopefully. Harry felt slightly worried at this. Harry of course knew well what an empty stomach felt like, and could often go days without a proper meal, but Ron had spent his whole life being fed what amounted to small feasts at every meal time. The redheaded boy wasn't fat, not like Dudley had been, but he doubted that Ron would be able to deal with the inevitable hunger as well as Harry could.

"I've bought us a couple of sandwiches," Harry replied, pulling them out of the plastic bag. "There's not much money...so I didn't want to spend too much. We don't know how long we'll be stuck here."

"They look fine, Harry," Ron replied softly, obviously trying to reassure his friend. "Anything else?"

"Yeah...erm, here," Harry pulled out a small black woolly hat and handed it to Ron without another word.

"A hat?" Ron asked in confusion.

"To hide your hair," Harry explained. He pulled out his own matching hat. "We stand out too much. We're too easily recognised. We need to...blend in."

"Hats it is," Ron agreed, obviously trying to appear cheerful. Harry appreciated the effort but he couldn't return the smile Ron shot at him; he couldn't seem to stop the almost debilitating worry, and honestly...his heart just wasn't in it.

Harry had spent the last few weeks desperately trying to find a place in the Wizarding World for himself, but almost as soon as he had finally reached the stage where he could honestly admit that he belonged there, Wormtail had taken it away. Now he was back where he started, on the streets and with nothing to his name, and it felt all the worse because he knew now exactly what he had been missing all that time.

All those years at the Dursleys, all those years on the streets, Harry had always been able to pretend that he was alright, that he could manage without a home or parents, or any of the things most normal kids had. He could deal with it all, simply because he'd never known how it felt. Harry honestly hadn't known what he had been missing.

But now?

Now he knew what it felt like to have three square meals a day, to have a comfortable bed at night. He knew how it felt to have people to count on, and to have people who truly cared about him. He just couldn't bear the thought of losing that now, not when it had become so important to him. He felt as if a piece of himself had been torn out during the night they had spent in the factory yesterday. It was like he was that scared little street-boy again, doing everything and anything he could to survive. Only this time, he knew that there were people out there who cared about him; he just couldn't find them.

"Harry, mate?" Ron said softly, concern clear on his features. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Harry muttered, fiddling about with his hat.

"Yeah and I'm a raging hippogriff," Ron replied with a grin. Harry couldn't help but smile at the small reminder of their first real meeting, but it soon fell from his face as his more depressing thoughts came back in full force.

"Seriously, Harry," Ron continued, obviously having noticed that his friend was clearly _not_ fine. "What's the matter?"

"I just..." Harry began unsurely. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he continued. "I...I don't want to be back on the streets."

"You're not, Harry," Ron replied softly. "This...it's not the same. It's...an adventure, remember? Like Frodo and Sam."

"Which one are you?" Harry joked shakily, his breathing slightly calmer. Ron was right; in all his worry about how to keep them alive, he'd forgotten that, at least this time, he wasn't on his own.

"Well you're Frodo, of course," Ron replied with a grin. "Me, I'm the sidekick, so I must be Sam."

Harry frowned slightly, even though Ron was joking. He'd noticed, since getting to know the redhead, that Ron had a slight inferiority complex that sometimes rivalled his own. Harry thought it might have something to do with having so many older brothers.

"Frodo couldn't have done it without Sam," Harry said seriously, his eyes meeting Ron's steadily.

"Yeah, you're right," Ron replied, matching Harry's look with equal intensity. "Because Sam wouldn't leave Frodo, no matter how tough things got."

"Thanks, Ron."

"Hey, it's Sam, remember," Ron grinned. "C'mon Frodo. Where are we going to go next? Any ideas?"

Harry smiled, although worry still lined his face. "We'll choose a direction and walk in it. I don't think we'll attract much attention in the day. We'll just keep our heads down and, you know...see where we end up."

"Sounds like a plan," Ron said, a slight bit of nervousness creeping into his tone now. "And at night?"

"We find somewhere," Harry replied, some of the confidence coming back to him now. He'd been so unsure lately, of how to act, and who he was. But living on the streets?

This he could do.

* * *

**A/N- **Hello again. I know this chapter is only short, and I'm sorry for that, but I honestly don't want to rush things. This is just a transition chapter really. Everything is going to happen quite quickly now, and I didn't want it to be over after one chapter. I'm sorry if it seems as if I'm dragging it out a bit, but I can't see how else to do it.

Also, I've finally introduced Remus! I know a lot of you have been desperately awaiting his introduction, so I hope it doesn't disappoint. He'll become a bigger part of the story now, so don't fear Remus fans!

Thanks for all the support, and thanks for reading!


	20. Hunger, Fear and Flight

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

**Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones**

**Chapter 19: Hunger, Fear and Flight**

* * *

Harry and Ron crept along the dark street, the flickering street lamps illuminating their frames in the black of the night. The two boys were silent, weary and tired steps moving them slowly forward, both sets of eyes vigilant against any dangers that might befall them.

When they reached the corner of the road, Harry glanced at Ron before turning down a foreboding alleyway on the right. It was late and they were both exhausted after a long day of traversing the busy streets of London. It was the end of their third day of living on the streets, and both boys had had already had enough. The biggest problem they had, though, was that they didn't know how to get home.

"Ron," Harry began unsurely, pausing halfway down the alley. Ron jumped slightly at the unexpected noise but after a moment he turned to face Harry, a slight embarrassed blush tinging his cheeks.

"Sorry," Ron muttered tiredly, but Harry simply gave Ron a small understanding smile, and it seemed to relax the boy slightly.

"Doesn't matter," Harry said quietly. "Look…I think we might have to sleep here tonight."

"Here?" Ron replied with a growing frown. "In the street, you mean? Outside?"

"I don't think...well, I doubt we'll find anywhere inside tonight," Harry continued gravely. "And we're both tired. We need rest, and we'll be fairly out of the way here."

Harry gestured to their deserted surroundings but Ron looked vaguely ill at the thought as he glanced around the dark and dirty alley.

"But…"

"We'll be fine," Harry said firmly, trying to convince himself as much as Ron. "It's not too cold tonight, and if one us stays on watch, we should be fairly safe."

Ron nodded resignedly, sighing deeply, and Harry took that as acceptance. The redhead didn't offer any further complaints but he obviously wasn't looking forward to the prospect of sleeping outside. Harry certainly didn't blame Ron for that. They had been on the run, living on the streets for three days now, but this would be the first time that they had been forced to actually sleep _on _the street. Harry had done it more times that he would have liked in his life, but he couldn't say that he was particularly looking forward to it either.

Decision made though, Ron followed Harry as he made his way over to the side of the alleyway. Harry dropped down by the wall and sat on the cold floor, sighing deeply as some of the pressure on his ankle was finally relieved. It hurt constantly, but ever since Wormtail had injured him, his ankle hadn't gotten any worse, which made Harry wonder if his magic was helping him somehow.

It didn't feel much better though either, so it must have been worse that he'd first hoped. Harry was soldiering on for now, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could walk on it before the pain became too much. He had been hiding it from Ron, not wanting to worry the redhead, but Harry was anxious for his ankle to get better. If it didn't, he wasn't sure how much longer they could keep going as they had. Money was running low, and injured as he was, Harry wasn't sure how he was going to get more…

"You okay, Harry?" Ron asked, obviously having noticed the black-haired boy's discomfort.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry replied tightly as Ron joined him on the cold floor. Ron gave him a look that showed that he clearly didn't believe him, but he didn't push it and for that, Harry was grateful. Harry gave Ron what he hoped was a reassuring smile, but the black-haired boy was also careful not to jostle his ankle, and that didn't seem to go unnoticed either.

"Have we got any food left?" Ron asked wearily, his pale face pinched slightly in hunger.

"A little," Harry replied reluctantly. He sat up slightly and dug around in his pocket, eventually revealing two chocolate bars. He handed one to the redhead, who almost snapped it out of his hand, but Harry put the other one back in his pocket.

If he had been alone tonight, Harry would have done without any food at all, saving it for the morning instead, but Ron had a lot less experience with dealing with hunger, and was not handling it all that well.

"Fanks...'m starvin'," Ron mumbled, his mouth already full of the chocolate bar.

Harry sighed, but he hid his worry behind his carefully constructed mask. There was no sense in stressing Ron out any more that he already was. The truth was, though, that they were running extremely low on money, and since they were actively trying to stay out of sight, Harry wasn't sure how safe it would be to try and beg or steal some more. He hadn't forgotten about his dodgy ankle either, and even though he had Ron to help him, the redhead would be next to useless when it came to pickpocketing or begging.

Harry ran a pale hand through his dirty, black hair. He really hoped it didn't come to that...

"I hate this," Ron muttered, pulling Harry out of his anxious thoughts. Harry wasn't sure that he was supposed to have heard the statement, but he had nonetheless.

"What?" asked Harry, as he tried to find a more comfortable position on the cold floor.

"I don't know how you managed to live like this for so long," Ron began quietly, gesturing to the dark, cold alleyway. "It's…bloody horrible."

"It was better than the Dursleys'," Harry shrugged, trying to seem unconcerned. "Not much, but still. It's not like I had, you know...anywhere else to go."

"Still," Ron said softly, a frown clear on his face even in the moonlight. "I really hope someone finds us soon."

"Me too," Harry replied quietly, wearily adjusting the black hat on his head. "I hate this too."

For years he had struggled to survive, to create a life for himself, but it had always been difficult. Every day it had taken something; every new day on the street had brought with it new worries and new pains.

He had a new life now, and he hated that he was back here, on the streets. Harry shook himself from his thoughts, not wanting to dwell on it too much.

"Ron, why don't you try and get some sleep?" Harry suggested quietly. "I'll keep first watch."

Ron looked for a moment like he was going to argue, but he must have caught something in Harry's expression because he simply nodded tiredly and slumped backwards against the wall. Ron closed his eyes and leaned against Harry for warmth. Harry had always been uncomfortable with human contact, having only really experienced the darker side of touch so far in his life, but for once Harry didn't fight it. He needed the reassurance of a warm body next to him to remind him that he wasn't alone this time.

"We'll be fine," Harry whispered to himself as his eyes trailed the deserted alleyway, scrutinising the darkness for any sign of danger. He pulled his blood stained Weasley jumper sleeves down to cover his hands as he settled in for the night.

He really hoped that someone found them soon.

* * *

Remus Lupin paced quickly along the street, the warm morning sun beating down on him as his eyes traced the crowds for any sign of the two thirteen year olds.

Where in Merlin's name were they?

Ron and Harry had been missing for four days now, and so far the search for them had turned up nothing useful.

It was as if they had disappeared off the face of the earth.

The Order had been quickly brought together by Dumbledore, almost as soon as the boys were declared missing, but the old adage 'strength in numbers' hadn't really helped so far. It had been a long stressful few days, especially for the Weasleys – who looked like they hadn't slept the entire time – but still the boys hadn't been brought home. They didn't even know if the pair were still alive.

Moody had been able to track the end location of the Portkey that had taken both boys to a deserted flat in the back streets of London. Unfortunately, that seemed to be where the trail ended. The flat had been frustratingly empty when the Order had arrived with wands drawn, and after an initial search it was quickly determined that there was no sign of the boys or the kidnapper, apart from some evidence of a struggle and a small smattering of blood on the floor.

It confirmed that they had been there at least.

There was no magical trace of where they had gone though, and it had frustrated Lupin, and the Order, no end. Just when they'd thought they were getting somewhere, they hit a dead end. Now they knew where the boys had been taken, but they had no idea if they kidnapper had moved them, or if they had somehow escaped themselves and were hiding until someone could find them.

Lupin desperately hoped it was the latter. It was why he was constantly combing the streets around the area, and why he had been doing so for the past few days. He wouldn't rest until he found Harry and his friend. He had failed the boy once before; he wouldn't make that same mistake again.

Lupin shook the thoughts from his head with some force as he continued to use all the senses at his disposal to find his friend's son. It might turn out to be nothing, but when he had gone to the flat, he had smelt something familiar – an odour that he had not smelt for a long time. Being a Werewolf meant that he had a keener sense of smell than most ordinary people, but the trace he found at the flat wasn't something he could immediately place in his memories. It was recognisable though, and that was enough for Lupin to get his hopes up.

Harry?

He had spent a lot of time around the boy as a baby after all. And they knew Harry and Ron had been at the flat. It _must _have been Harry's scent that he had picked up. It would even explain why Lupin didn't recognise it completely anymore. He hadn't had any contact with Harry since that fateful night twelve years ago.

It was that faint trail he was following now, his focus on his nose as he traversed the busy streets, looking for any sign that his search wasn't futile, and that the trail was not a dead end. It was a weak lead, possibly nothing, but it was all they had.

Lupin was desperate enough to try anything.

The scent had to lead somewhere. It had to.

* * *

"Harry? It's time we got up. There are a few people around."

"Hmm," Harry replied tiredly, blinking the sleep from his eyes. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the brightness of the morning sun, but eventually they did, and he turned to face Ron, pulling himself up from the floor as he shook the last of the sleep from his body.

"I think we should go," Ron began unsurely. "I dunno…what do you think?"

"We should go," agreed Harry, straightening out his jumper and patting away some of the dirt from his trousers. "C'mon, maybe we can find some breakfast somewhere. There's a bakery around here somewhere I think."

"How do you know these things?" Ron muttered, but he followed Harry down the street with complete faith.

The two boys bowed their heads as they entered the slightly busier street from the alley. Harry was practised at the art, but Ron had taken a little bit longer to get used to the idea. Coming from a large family, Ron had known well the feeling of being ignored, but never before had he had to hide. Harry was glad that the redhead had picked it up so quickly though; it made it a lot easier to stay under the radar.

They walked for a few minutes before eventually Harry stopped on the corner and pointed to a small shop that was oozing the most delicious smells.

"See," Harry said, a small smile on his face as he pointed to the bakery. "Told you."

"I never doubted you mate," Ron said seriously, breathing in the mouth-watering smell. "Do we have enough money?"

Harry looked down while he considered their situation. In truth they _didn't _have enough money, but hunger was gnawing at his stomach, so much so that he could barely focus his mind.

"We've got enough," Harry decided with a sigh, looking towards the shop window with barely concealed desire. He would have to steal some money soon, or beg, Harry decided. They needed to eat, and Harry needed to keep Ron's spirits up.

Decision made, Harry bent over and pulled the last note – a five pound note – from his sock and handed it over to Ron.

"You look the cleanest," Harry explained, gesturing to his own blood splattered jumper. "You go in and…you know, get us both something. I'll wait here."

Ron nodded nervously and began to walk down the street quickly, head down to avoid any unwanted attention. Neither boy particularly wanted to be separated from the other, not even for a brief moment, but at times like this they had no choice. Harry, covered in bruises and blood, would be much more noticeable than Ron, no matter how much Harry hated the fact, and truth be told, they needed to eat.

That's what Harry tried to convince himself anyway, watching the bakery closely as he tried to stay inconspicuous on the street corner. He couldn't help the anxiousness from welling up within him though as he nervously tapped his hand on his leg. Something was off. He tried to push the anxiousness away, but Harry could help but feel like something was wrong. His instincts, trained by years on the streets, told him that something was going to happen. He could feel it…

"Move! MOVE!"

Harry jerked his head around at the shout, flinching slightly. Harry squinted against the morning sun, and saw that slightly further down the street there seemed to be a bit of a commotion going on. A man, youngish with greying hair and a face covered in scars, was shouting at the few people on the street as he ran past them, telling them to get out of his way. Clearly the man was in a hurry.

"Just get out of the way, please!"

Harry frowned as he watched the man's eyes dart frantically around the street. He seemed upset and desperate. Maybe he had lost his kid or something? Harry immediately felt bad for him; it must be terrible to lose your child. Of course that train of thought immediately brought his mind back to their situation. He hoped the Weasleys were doing okay and that they weren't worrying too much…

The man's amber eyes suddenly caught Harry's and the stranger froze, shock covering the man's expression. Harry felt a strange sense of foreboding rise up in him and suddenly he wanted to be away from this place.

Quickly he broke off eye contact and walked sharply over to the bakery, ignoring the pain in his ankle as he tried to put even more distance between him and the man. His nerves were already on edge, and something felt off about the man's expression. It was almost as if he had..._recognised _Harry.

"Wait, please!"

Harry didn't turn around, instead quickening his place until he was almost running. Just as he reached the door, Ron came out, his arms laden with delicious treats.

"Harry – "

"Ron, we've got to go."

Harry grabbed Ron's arm and began to pull him down the street away from where the man had been coming from. Anxiously, Harry turned behind him, only to find that the man was now running down the street towards them.

"Harry – ?"

"Shit," Harry swore quickly, his pulse quickening as adrenaline shot through his system.

"Wait!" yelled the man, gesturing to the two boys, but Harry's instincts had already taken over.

"Run!" he cried, pulling Ron down the street as he picked up his pace, desperately trying to ignore the now stabbing pain in his ankle.

They sped around the corner and carried on running - or in Harry's case half-hobbling and half-running - uncaring about the commotion they were causing. Harry's mind worked furiously as he ran, his thoughts going over every memory he had as he tried to place the man.

Who the hell was he, and why did he want to talk to Harry so badly?

Without looking to see if the man was still with them, Harry and Ron traversed the streets and busy morning rush crowds, trying to put as much space between them and the strange man as they could. Without pausing to think, Harry led Ron through the streets in no particular direction, more concerned with getting away than where they were going. Making a quick decision when they reached a crossroads, Harry led Ron round a corner and down an empty side street.

"H…Harry," Ron panted, completely out of breath. He stopped and doubled over as he tried to pull air into his lungs. "What's…going on?"

"There was a...man," Harry replied, stopping reluctantly, trying to catch his breath as he leant on the wall in an attempt to take some of the pressure off his ankle. "He was...looking at me funny. Like he knew me or something."

"You recognise him?" Ron asked, sweat running off his face. He swiped at it quickly before turning to look at Harry with a worried expression clear as day on his face.

"No," Harry replied quietly, a frown slowly forming on his own face. He looked around them nervously, but there was no one else around.

"Are you sure he was looking at you?" Ron asked, concern covering his expression.

Before Harry could explain exactly what had happened, there was a loud crack from beside them, and the man that had been chasing them appeared as if from nowhere.

Magic.

"Please don't run," the man said, desperation written all over his face.

"What…do you want?" Harry asked fearfully, doing his best to shield Ron from the man. Ron wasn't having any of it though, and he pulled himself around to stand bravely beside his friend.

"I've been looking for you," the man replied, a look of relief so clear on his face that Harry was taken aback by it.

"Who are you?" asked Ron. The redhead had squared his shoulders in a attempt to hide his fear, but Harry hadn't missed the faint quivering in his voice.

"You must be Ron," the man replied, a soft smile on his face. He turned to Harry. "And you. Well you look so much like your father that I'd recognise you anywhere, Harry."

Harry's insides turned to ice, and as he turned to face Ron he saw a horror filled expression that he was certain was mirrored on his own face. Harry's body tensed as his mind worked furiously to find an escape. This man knew his father. That must mean...

"You're working with…_him _aren't you?" Harry asked coldly, stalling for time.

The man looked confused for a second but he seemed to pull himself together. He moved closer to the boys, but Ron and Harry stepped backwards.

"Stay away!" Ron warned, raising his fists.

"I won't hurt you," promised the man.

"Who are you?" asked Harry, raising his own fists as the man advanced. "What do you want?"

"My name is Remus Lupin," the man replied patiently, pausing in his movements as if he didn't want to spook the boys. "I've been part of the search that's been looking for you. You were taken from the Burrow, weren't you?"

Harry nodded wordlessly, but didn't feel appeased. In truth, the kidnapper or anyone associated with him, would know that fact as well.

"I just want to take you home," Lupin said softly, and Harry couldn't see any hint if a lie in his amber eyes.

Harry glanced over to Ron and saw uncertainty in the redhead's expression, coupled with the beginnings of hope. Harry wanted it to be true as well, but he knew better than to trust a stranger's word.

"Don't come any closer or we'll run," Harry warned as he lowered his fists slightly.

"Okay," Lupin said, backing away slightly.

"How do we know you are who you say you are?" asked Harry, talking quickly to hide the fear in his voice. "How do we know you aren't working with _him_?"

"I don't know who you're talking about," replied Lupin with a frown. "The kidnapper?"

"Yeah," Harry answered.

"His name was Wormtail," Ron spat out. "He used to be my pet rat, but turns out he's a bloody wizard."

Dawning comprehension flashed across Lupin's face, along with a small trace of fear, understanding and horror. Harry felt fear clench at his stomach.

"You...you know him," accused Harry, backing away even more. "You know the bastard."

When Lupin didn't deny it, although he seemed too in shock to even speak, Harry took the man's distraction as the opportunity he had been waiting for. Without thinking, he grabbed Ron's arm and pulled them down the street. Soon they were both running again.

"Wait!"

They didn't turn around, sprinting down the street as if their lives depended on it. If Lupin knew Wormtail then they had to be working together. They had to lose him.

Harry led Ron on a winding route through the streets, heading towards areas with more crowds so that they could get lost amongst the people. Adrenaline soared through their weak bodies, urging them forward past the point of endurance, urging Harry to ignore his injured ankle. He didn't know how the man had found them, but they couldn't afford to stop. Not until they were safe.

Gasping, Harry sped around a corner, closely followed by Ron. Harry paused to get his bearings, his head darting around as he tried to choose a new direction for them to run in. Where could they hide? There must be somewhere…

Twin cracks shot through the alleyway, and before Harry could register what was happening, and an arm wrapped around his middle and yanked him backwards. Harry lost his footing but didn't fall, held up by the attacker.

Panic filled his mind and Harry struggled with all the strength he had, the only coherent thought in his mind telling him to fight or die. To the right of him, Harry saw Ron held by someone as well, struggling valiantly to escape but Harry could no more help him than he could save himself.

"No," Harry gasped, weakness beginning to set in. He pushed it away though with a determined force. He refused to die, not after everything he had been through, not after everything he had survived. It would not end like this.

Harry fought with renewed strength, but the arms only held onto him tighter. Before he could do anything, Harry felt the familiar tightening in his chest, and the world turned upside down as they were pulled from the alleyway through the very air.

The journey was quick and sickening, disorientating Harry to the point that he thought he might throw up. They landed roughly on a hard floor, and the arms that had been holding him fell away. Harry took the chance and scrambled away in fear as he tried to catch his breath. He slammed his eyes shut as he fought to regain control, gathering himself to fight.

A hand touched his shoulder but he flinched away in fear, his nerves getting the better of him. He didn't want to die, and he knew he had to be brave if he had any hope of getting out of the flat alive, but Harry was afraid that if he opened his eyes the nightmare would be real. Wormtail would be there and it would all be over. They would never be able to escape a second time...

"Harry...Harry calm down," a soft voice said. It was a woman's voice; a voice he recognised. "You're safe now. You're home.

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes and blinked. As his heartbeat finally began to slow, Harry glanced around the familiar room, his eyes locking onto Mrs Weasley, her own eyes filling with tears as she watched him get his bearings. He saw Mr Weasley to his right, seated at familiar kitchen table, with his hand resting on Ron's shoulder as if he would never let the boy go again. Harry felt the air leave his lungs in relief at the sight.

They were at the Burrow. They were home.

* * *

**A/N- **So erm...worth the wait? I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update this fic but life has been busy for me and the muse has been cruel. I was hit with inspiration for another story, and the idea wouldn't leave me alone until I posted something for it. I promised myself that I wouldn't forget about this one though, so here we are. Better late than never, I suppose.

I really hope the chapter's okay. I tried to keep the excitement up, but I've never been particularly confident with writing action scenes so I'm not sure how this went. I'd love to know what you though, and if you can forgive me for the wait. Hopefully the next chapter won't quite as long in coming! Thanks for all your support so far, and more importantly, thanks for reading!


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